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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096732">Stairway to Paradise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainFlame/pseuds/RainFlame'>RainFlame</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stairway to Paradise [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blindness, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Parental Roy Mustang, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:54:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>161,996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainFlame/pseuds/RainFlame</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed has been MIA for months, and when Roy finally finds him, he is blind and more than just physically injured. With the State honorably discharging him, and no father to speak of, Roy has no choice but to care for the boy and try to put the pieces back together. Parental!Roy. Rating for injury and violence, just to be safe.</p><p>(Imported from my ff.net account).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alphonse Elric &amp; Edward Elric, Edward Elric &amp; Roy Mustang, Edward Elric &amp; Team Mustang, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stairway to Paradise [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817623</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>266</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There reaches a point where you believe it can't get any worse.</p><p>When you get past that point, they call it a nightmare.</p><p>When you pass that, well, then it must be called purgatory.</p><p>He had had a lot of time to think it over, and that's what he decided this was: Purgatory.</p><p>He felt something latch onto his automail foot and cried out, heart racing and hand flying to instinctively cover his throat as he kicked out. The creature let out a surprised yelp and its presence slinked back, away from his corner.</p><p>He had been dozing again, taking advantage of the brief snippets of peace between agonies, but he could never truly sleep. Not when he was so cold and so hungry. Not when he shared this tiny cell with three feral wolves that would much rather eat him than leave him to his rest. He thought he had gotten his bluff in on them in the beginning, thrashing them every time they so much as looked at him funny, but he had been told animals had a sixth sense for weakness.</p><p>Well, if he was anything right now, it was weak.</p><p>Not long after he had first arrived, he had fallen asleep on the floor and awakened with one of the animal's jaws wrapped around his throat. He hadn't slept quite as soundly since then.</p><p>He wasn't sure how long he'd been here, be it weeks or months or years. Surely not years . . . but he couldn't be sure. He supposed it was possible. Anything that horrible was well within the realm of possibility.</p><p>With a shaky breath, he pulled his legs up to his chest and curled up in a ball, pressing his face to his knee. Sometimes that helped with the pain and the hunger, helped to keep him warm and it kept the dogs' teeth from most of his vitals. Especially his neck.</p><p>He vaguely remembered what had led him to this; this broken, starving heap he was now, a shadow of a human being. Before everything had been stripped from him, when he still had his pride and his dignity and hope. It was a distant memory, almost seeming like another life.</p><p>He vaguely remembered he had been on a mission, something about locating stolen supplies in the north. Alphonse wasn't allowed to come with him for reasons of stealth, and now he couldn't have been more relieved. He had been abducted from around Briggs, ambushed before he even knew what had happened. He was taken back to their base, and that's around the time his memory started to get a bit fuzzy.</p><p>He knew the first thing they did upon finding out he was an alchemist was take his watch, and then they made the mistake of not realizing he didn't need a circle to transmute. After that particular revelation, they took his arm, and kicked him around for good measure. He was shown his cell, which was really a small, frozen basement in their sick and twisted hideout. They took his clothes and chained him to the wall by the neck, like a dog, then left him down there in the dark for days without food or water with only three starving wolves for company.</p><p>He had known that they were waging psychological warfare on him. That was why they were treating him like this, trying to humiliate him and destroy his sense of self. They didn't know who they were dealing with, though. They didn't know they were messing with the Fullmetal Alchemist.</p><p>He almost gave a small, weak laugh as he remembered, but his throat wasn't used to such sounds and he wheezed pathetically instead. What a fool he was.</p><p>After that, they dragged him out of the dark basement and asked him questions, mostly about the Amestrian army and their forces and a lot of things that he simply didn't know, and wouldn't have said if he did, not so much out of loyalty but out of sheer spite. He grasped at that small amount of control, reveling in angering his captors, tormenting them in his own way even as they tormented him. They stuck him with knives, shooting electricity up his shoulder port, tearing at his skin with blades and even burning him with acid and fire, but he had hope. He knew rescue would come, and it would be soon and as long as he kept it together, kept his wits about him and kept fighting, he would see Al again.</p><p>But no one ever came.</p><p>It had been weeks, long tortuous weeks stuck there in constant pain, starving on a rat's share of food that he had to wrest from the jaws of the wolves. He was running on next to no sleep, thanks to the same cell mates, and the constant, biting cold stole the last shreds of his patience.</p><p>He had decided to make a break for it on his own. He had been planning it for days, almost since his arrival, waiting for the opportunity to strike. He had broken off a toe of his automail and slowly but surely scratched a circle in the stone floor of his prison. It had taken hours upon hours to etch into the hard surface, and when he finally had it ready, he waited for the perfect time to strike.</p><p>His escape attempt was nothing short of a disaster. He had made it as far as outside, barely tasting the freedom in the frozen north air in time for them to run him down and drag him back, none too gently.</p><p>And to reward him for his hope, they poured acid in his eyes.</p><p>The last thing he had seen was their leering faces as they took his sight.</p><p>He had heard many people say that the Fullmetal Alchemist was too stubborn to break, too strong to shatter. He had been told that there was nothing he couldn't do if he put his mind to it, nothing he couldn't bear with his resolve.</p><p>But all it took was the removal of that predominant sense, and he felt something in himself break into a million pieces.</p><p>He wasn't human anymore, he knew that for sure. He was less than the animals he shared his cell with. He jumped at the slightest noise, flinched from whispers of air, cowered with every touch.</p><p>Eyesight was knowing. It was a grounding in the present and a safety net he didn't know he had possessed until it was gone.</p><p>Blindness was the dark and fear and pain and the unknown. It was vulnerability in a way he had never thought existed. It was everything terrifying, magnified a thousand times.</p><p>And perhaps the worst thought of all was that even if by some miracle he did get out alive, he would never see his brother again.</p><p>He wasn't sure how many days after that incident it was before he couldn't take the fear anymore and tried to kill himself. He laid there, waiting for the wolves with throat laid bare, hyperventilating as he heard their paws whisper across the floor, the soft huff of their breathing just out of reach. He could almost smell their hunger, and when one of them eagerly latched onto his bare stomach, he couldn't help but instinctively kick it away with mindless panic and try to staunch the blood pouring from his gut with his only hand.</p><p>That had only driven the starved animals mad with hunger and they fell upon him, ripping and tearing and he <em>fought</em>. He fought with everything he had left in his broken, bleeding body, despite how his mind screamed for him to stop, to let it end there.</p><p>But though he wasn't even human anymore, he was still alive, and it was hard to shoulder past the instinct to keep it that way.</p><p>Somehow he had fought them back, somehow they had retreated from him. He had screamed at them, straining at the end of his chain until he choked, slashing the air with his only arm, trying to reach them, to tear them apart, to make them understand that, if nothing else, he still had control over <em>this</em>, and he had suddenly decided that he couldn't die. Not here, not at their jaws like a mindless sheep.</p><p>And then he realized that he was too much of a coward to die. He couldn't even end it on his terms.</p><p>As far as he could tell, that had been weeks, maybe months ago.</p><p>And it had been too long since someone had been down here. Too long since he and the wolves had eaten anything. He wondered now if his captors were gone, had abandoned him to die here with the rest of the animals.</p><p>The wolves were growing braver, their hunger making them try things they hadn't since he had let them have it. He knew that he was starving to death, and that they had the advantage over him in strength and numbers. It wouldn't be long before he would be too weak to fend them off, and then he would be slaughtered like a deer in the woods.</p><p>He suddenly became aware of sounds from the house above, thunking and stomping that he hadn't heard in days. Had they come back? Maybe there were here to get him, or maybe they were here to finish him off, tying up all the loose ends before moving out.</p><p>His breathing accelerated, dangerously fast. He heard the dogs shuffling nervously, one even uttering a soft growl that made him flinch away, pressing his broken body even closer to the wall, his heart pounding in his throat. He smelled fear, a scent he didn't even know existed until his sight was gone, but was now all too familiar with. It hung thick in the air, and he wasn't sure if it belonged to the wolves or to him.</p><p>Footsteps, at least four sets, maybe more, stopped outside the basement door. There was the heavy rattling of tumblers rolling and the door swung open, grating on squeaking hinges to bounce on the wall behind it.</p><p>He remembered it was dark, whether the door was open or not, and he pressed himself as far as his chain would allow him, cramming his small frame into the corner and trying vainly to slow his breathing as the collar around his neck chaffed and choked him.</p><p>Feet thudded down the steps, all thirteen of them, before halting. Probably because at that time the wolves let out a chorus of vicious snarls, their voices rolling thunder in the tiny basement.</p><p>"Dispatch them," a baritone voice ordered, sounding weak and brittle and terribly familiar.</p><p>Shots rang out, impossibly loud and it was all he could do to keep from crying out in terror. He heard surprised, pain-filled yelps and the sounds died.</p><p>And for a moment, he was terrified for the wolves, sad they were gone and that he was alone in his purgatory, facing the end by himself. Because even if they were part of his torment, possibly the instrument of his death, they had been <em>there</em>, and that was more than anyone else had done for him in this wretched place.</p><p>The basement stank of death.</p><p>Then the steps approached and he fought to keep his body still. Maybe they had forgotten he was there, maybe they wouldn't see him. Maybe this was another nightmare.</p><p>He buried his face in his knees and prayed they wouldn't see him.</p><p>"Ed?" a voice whispered.</p><p>His heart stopped.</p><p>Ed? That was his name . . . a name he hadn't heard in weeks, months . . . that was <em>his</em> name. Who here knew his name? That was something he had refused to tell them, refused to let them defile with their coarse tongues and vile lips.</p><p>"Ed, can you hear me?" a different voice, a tenor, murmured. It was so soft, but so terribly loud only feet away from him.</p><p>This was a dream. It had to be, because reality wasn't this kind.</p><p>Words weren't something he could wield right now, some part of his mind so detached from such complicated language all together. He smelled sweat and anxiety and smoke, and smoke meant fire and they were going to burn him again. He was choking on his heart. He could only stay still and stay quiet and pray that they left without killing him.</p><p>He felt the air pressure move and a feather-light touch on his shoulder.</p><p>He was trapped against the wall, the chain pulled taught and already almost choking him. If his heart beat any faster it would probably stop, but something was touching him, only seconds away from hurting him, and he had to get it away.</p><p>He snarled, a purely animalistic sound, and perhaps if he had time to think about it, he would have been ashamed of that fact. He kicked out with his automail leg even as he pressed tighter against the wall, pressing his face into his flesh leg. His foot connected with something solid and he heard a surprised <em>oof!</em> as his attacker was driven away from him.</p><p><em>"Fullmetal!" </em>The baritone barked.<em> "Stop this right now!"</em></p><p>That voice . . . that tone . . . he knew it. It brought back memories of sitting in the office with the sun shining behind that grand desk, of almost friendly banter and snide comments and teasing and safety.</p><p>He wanted to say something, to beg for confirmation, but he was so scared, so terrified that if he uttered a single syllable, the dream would shatter and he'd be in that chair with electricity sent up his raw nerve endings, or knives slid between his ribs.</p><p>"Fullmetal, look at me," that voice ordered, now only inches from his face.</p><p>He slowly, so slowly, lifted his head, careful to keep his delicate throat protected as he looked ahead. "Mus. . .tang . . . ?" he dared to whisper, his parched throat grating out the foreign sounds of human language. He didn't even recognize his own voice anymore, but that didn't matter, as long as he was <em>sure</em>.</p><p>He heard a sharp intake of breath, a startled gasp from the man before him. Then a deep, shuddering breath. "That's right, Ed. It's me. We're taking you home."</p><p>He felt a sudden heat to his sightless eyes, smelled salt and felt tears roll down his face. He was crying, his body shaking as his mind struggled to process what was just said to him.</p><p>Home? They were taking him home?</p><p>They had come for him.</p><p>Part of him knew he shouldn't let his guard down; that he still didn't know enough to be sure yet if this was some trick or a hallucinated dream born of desperation.</p><p>But if this were a dream, he didn't want to wake up again.</p><p>"I have Hawkeye, Havoc, and Breda with me, Fullmetal," Mustang's voice murmured again, a gentle balm to his raw nerves. He could sense the others, one near the stairs, one just behind the Colonel, and one just a few feet to his side. "Falman and Feury are both outside, standing guard. I'm going to take that thing from around your neck, then we can go. Is that okay?"</p><p>His neck? Touch his neck? That wasn't okay, not at all. Didn't he know that it only took thirty-three pounds of pressure to crush a trachea?</p><p>He must have seen his hesitancy, the protective way he wrapped his hand around his collared throat. "Ed, we have to get it off to get you home. Don't you want to go home and see Al?"</p><p>See Al? He could never see his little brother again, but that wasn't what the Colonel meant. Yes, he wanted to be with his brother again! Of course he did, but his throat . . . it was all that kept him here, grounded in the world, keeping his soul on this side of the Gate.</p><p>"It's okay, Ed. I'll get it off, then I'll take you to Al."</p><p>It was for Al. He would do anything for Al, no matter how scared he was.</p><p>He gave a shaky nod and slowly dropped his hand from his throat.</p><p>"Very good, Ed," Mustang said approvingly. "I'm going to touch the lock now, okay? I have the key. I'm just going to unlock it. If you hold very still, I won't even touch your neck. Does that sound fair?"</p><p>Another shaky nod and he felt the air shift, the hairs on the back of his neck raising as he sensed the hand closing in on him. He tried hard not to hyperventilate. "You're doing fine, Ed," Mustang complimented, but he could hear the strain behind the amiable words. He felt the weight on his neck shift and it took all he had not to jerk back, to kick out and keep it <em>away</em>. A small whimper escaped his lips. "Shhh," Mustang whispered, the collar jingling. "It's okay, Ed. Almost got it."</p><p>Suddenly the tightness was gone, the weight falling away to clatter on the ground. The chaffed skin around his throat chilled in the frigid air, burning with sudden sensation. He whipped his only hand up to wrap his fingers around it protectively.</p><p>"Very good, Ed. You did well," Mustang praised. "I'm going to pick you up, okay? I'll carry you out of here."</p><p>He couldn't have protested it if he wanted to. It was just too much, too many sensations, too much fear, too many unknowns. He wasn't sure when he was in Mustang's arms, but he was just coherent enough to hear the older man's string of soft, quiet apologies as he carried him up the stairs and out of purgatory.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waiting was always the most agonizing part.</p>
<p>He had waited for the boy to report in, and it never came. He waited for news of him, and it never came. He waited for their handful of leads to turn up a scrap of evidence that Ed was still alive, and after three months of the boy missing, the wait was supposed to be over. Roy finally had him. He was finally safe.</p>
<p>But, as Roy watched the disturbed visage of the doctor coming down the hall to see him, he decided that for Ed, safe was a relative term.</p>
<p>Roy stood to meet the doctor, Hawkeye by his side. The rest of his team was busy coordinating the investigation into who Ed's captors were, where they had gone, and where Roy could find them so he could make them pay for the condition they had returned his subordinate in.</p>
<p>The last one wasn't written on the orders, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that retribution of the fiery kind was in order.</p>
<p>"How is he?" Roy demanded before the doctor could get a word out. He spared a glance at the tag on the man's lapel that read 'Doctor Wayne Marsh.' He was an older man, with hair thinning into a white, wispy halo around his head, a thin frame, and small, dark eyes that vaguely reminded Roy of a weasel.</p>
<p>"We should talk in my office," Marsh said, gesturing for them to follow. It was a good idea, since this was case-sensitive information, but Roy couldn't help but be annoyed with the further delay.</p>
<p>The doctor took them back into a hallway of offices and into the third door on the left. His personal space was a disorganized mess, with papers littered all over the desk and files piled high on every surface, but Roy was far too distracted to be bothered by the man's housekeeping.</p>
<p>"What is his condition?" he snapped as soon as the door shut. Perhaps it was a bit rude, but Roy had waited for this information for three months.</p>
<p>The older man sighed. "He's in bad shape. The most obvious problems are the bite wounds. You said he was kept in a room with wild dogs? Several of those are infected, as well as several of the lacerations and deep cuts on most of his body. He has a multitude of burn marks, some appearing to be from some sort of acid. He is severely malnourished and dehydrated, so he's on fluids. We've stitched him up and given him shots for tetanus and started him on antibiotics and rabies vaccinations, though we don't have the results on the dogs' autopsies yet. Just a precaution, you see."</p>
<p>"What about his automail?" Roy asked. Even to his own ears he sounded terse and snappish, but the way this man was just listing these things, like items on a grocery list . . . it was infuriating.</p>
<p>And the thought of someone doing all this to Ed . . . Roy wanted to make someone pay.</p>
<p>"His leg has some damage that might cause him some problems, most notably a missing toe. His shoulder port appears to have been terribly abused. The fuses are burned out, and there is some trauma to the tissues around it, perhaps for the same reasons. We have him scheduled to meet with our automail specialist in the morning."</p>
<p>"And his eyes?" Roy was afraid to ask, but in the dimness of that wretched basement, when Ed had looked up at him, Roy couldn't help but notice his golden eyes, once fiery and sharp, were dull and murky, not focused on anything. He hadn't shared his suspicions with anyone, lest he make them worry for nothing, but now he had to know.</p>
<p>"Acid," the doctor supplied.</p>
<p>Roy had known it, but he still felt his insides go cold with the brutal confirmation.</p>
<p>Hawkeye didn't say anything, but Roy noticed the sudden tension in her jaw and throat, the tightness in her eyes. Apparently she hadn't noticed before.</p>
<p>"It's been too long to properly gauge what kinds were used, but it was obviously strong enough to do the trick."</p>
<p>Roy thought he did a valiant job of not throttling the man for such casual terminology. "The 'trick?'" he hissed.</p>
<p>The doctor seemed to catch the promise of violence in his inflection. He cleared his throat and shifted his stance uncomfortably. "He has no vision or light sensitivity in either eye."</p>
<p>Another dreaded question: "Will it come back?"</p>
<p>"Not likely," he said, bringing up his clipboard to check something, or maybe to keep his gaze hidden from Roy's threatening glare. "If you would like, you may see him now. He caused a lot of problems when we got him in here, so he's being lightly sedated, just enough to keep him from being a handful. I'll send in my assistant to check on him in a bit." Roy knew a dismissal when he heard one. The doctor turned and walked out of the office, leaving him and Hawkeye to stare after him.</p>
<p>"I should set his whole office on fire," Roy snarled, stalking into the hall and heading for the ICU.</p>
<p>Hawkeye kept pace with him easily. "That would not be wise, sir."</p>
<p>"I don't care. If it weren't connected to the whole hospital, it would be ashes," he assured her with barely restrained fury.</p>
<p>"He did his job, sir. Just because he didn't sugarcoat it is no reason to become violent," she said sagely, but Roy could hear the undercurrent of tension in her strong voice.</p>
<p>Roy didn't respond, lest he take out his wrath on her. She was right, as she always was, but that didn't make him any happier.</p>
<p>This whole situation was maddening. This shouldn't be happening, not to Ed. What was he thinking, sending the boy up here?! The Drachman border was a hot spot of terroristic activity, with bombings and kidnappings almost as common as not. It was no wonder something had gone so wrong.</p>
<p>Roy couldn't help but wonder why it was his subordinates always had to pay for his mistakes.</p>
<p>"Have you notified his brother?" he asked, suddenly feeling very much the wet match Ed often likened him to. Alphonse would be devastated to see his brother like this. Ed would be devastated for him to see him like this.</p>
<p>"We've tried to get in touch with him, but as you know, he hasn't been staying in any hotels," she said. As a suit of armor, Alphonse didn't require things like food and sleep. The day Ed went missing, Al had dropped everything and took a train to the north. He called to check in with Roy about once or twice a week, but as far as anyone knew, he was constantly on the move, tirelessly scouring the countryside for any sign of his brother. "We left a message at his last known location, but they haven't seen him in three days."</p>
<p>Roy chanced a sidelong look her way. To an outsider, she appeared calm and confident, fully in control of herself, but Roy had known her for years. He had known her when she was young and every emotion could be clearly read on her beautiful face, and he knew what to look for; the tightness in the corner of her eyes, her shoulders, the way her elbow bent slightly, as if subconsciously wanting to reach for her gun. Roy knew she cared about the Elric brothers a great deal. They all did.</p>
<p>When they arrived at the hospital room, Ed didn't seem "lightly sedated," as the doctor had promised.</p>
<p>Actually, he was currently in the middle of fighting off three male nurses. Well, mostly two, since the other was flat on the ground, blood streaming from his nose. The other two had just managed to strap down the boy's automail leg, but despite Ed being two limbs short and starved and weak, he was putting up a desperate fight.</p>
<p>"STOP, NO MORE!" Ed was screaming, voice raw and feral, face twisted in tortured anguish and wet with frightened tears as he tried to wrench his limbs from the grips of those around him, sightless eyes wide. "Get away from me! STAY BACK!"</p>
<p>Roy's blood boiled at the sight. Maybe it was irrational, maybe this was just standard procedure, but they were scaring him, and Roy couldn't stand it.</p>
<p>He and Hawkeye both rushed forward. "Fullmetal!" Roy snapped, voice sharp with authority. He hated to do it, hated to be so cold when all he wanted to do was cradle the boy against him and tell him everything would be okay, but the sharp command seemed to cut through the haze, reaching back to wherever he had locked away his rationality.</p>
<p>The response was instant; he froze, just like he had in the basement, as if he had forgotten why he had been struggling in the first place. The expression on his face became one of disbelief, then desperation. "Colonel?" he whispered, head angling toward his voice. "You . . . you . . ." He pulled his only arm away from the startled nurse, his hand stretching out, searching.</p>
<p>Roy shouldered roughly past the nurse, taking his place by the bedside and wrapping his hand around Ed's. Ed flinched violently at the contact, trying to pull his trapped hand away with a panicked whimper, but quieted when Roy said, "I'm right here, Ed."</p>
<p>The small hand gripped his impossibly tight, as if holding on for his life. "Don't leave," he begged, voice quiet and broken in about as many places as Roy's heart. His eyes were drooping as his small frame took a shuddering breath. "Can't stay awake . . . can't fight them, they'll come back, please don't leave . . ." He had been fighting sleep, fighting against the pull of anesthesia, but apparently a familiar voice was enough to make him relax enough to go under.</p>
<p>Roy swallowed thickly "I'm not going anywhere," he found himself saying, squeezing the boy's hand gently. "I'll be here when you wake up."</p>
<p>"Promise . . . promise . . ."</p>
<p>"I promise."</p>
<p>Roy's quiet assurance seemed to satisfy the child. He gave a weak nod and his eyes closed. Roy waited a minute until his breathing evened out and the hand went limp in his before he turned to the three nurses, venom in his eyes. "What is the meaning of this?"</p>
<p>The men paled considerably, blinking at him with wide eyes. He stared at them until one found the resolve to answer. "We gave him the sedative, but his last dose started to wear off before the new one kicked in," the thin red headed kid explained, voice quivering. "He started thrashing, so we were trying to get him strapped down—"</p>
<p>"Tell me," Roy interrupted, his own voice quivering, but with barely suppressed rage, "is this whole hospital completely incompetent?"</p>
<p>All three blanched even further. "No, sir, we—"</p>
<p>"Get out of my sight. I want the head nurse down here." They didn't move. "Now," he snarled.</p>
<p>All three jumped, nearly tripping over themselves to get out the door.</p>
<p>The room fell into the closest things hospitals got to silence: the hum of air conditioning, the rattling of carts and chatter of nurses in the halls, the steady beep of the heart monitor. Suddenly all of Roy's rage— the anger and guilt he'd been nursing since Ed went missing, that had built to an inferno upon their arrival at the hospital— all left him in a rush. He dragged one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs from the wall and sank into it, never letting go of Ed's hand as he did. For some reason, he didn't want to let go. He wasn't sure if it was more for Ed's comfort or for his own.</p>
<p>"Sir?"</p>
<p>He glanced up at his lieutenant tiredly. "What is it?"</p>
<p>She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head, grabbing the only other chair for herself and dropping into it.</p>
<p>They sat there for a while, lost in their own thoughts as they stared at the blonde boy in the bed.</p>
<p>To say he looked awful would have been the understatement of the century . . . He was so horribly thin, cheekbones jutting from his face and eyes sunken, the children's hospital gown swallowing him in its green expanse. His skin was pale and almost papery under Roy's hand, graced with scars and bruises. He looked like some kind of macabre jigsaw puzzle, stitches tracing across his body as if the threads were the only thing holding him together. The blonde locks were now clean, but dimmed somehow, their luster gone, and Roy's eyes were drawn to the swath of fabric encircling his small throat. He recalled how protective Ed had been of his neck, and wondered vaguely if some special attention had been paid to it by his captors.</p>
<p>"We have to get him back to Central," Roy found himself saying, almost absently, as he gently massaged the back of Ed's hand with his thumb, careful of the IV taped to it. "He can't stay here."</p>
<p>"It's probably not safe to move him yet, sir," Hawkeye said, but her voice said otherwise. She wanted him back home, too.</p>
<p>Roy shook his head. "I know doctors in Central. Doctors I trust. He needs to be someplace familiar, with familiar people. We'll have to go back to the office eventually, and I'm not letting him stay here. Not by himself."</p>
<p>Hawkeye nodded, the gesture seeming to neither agree nor disagree. "It will be a stressful move for him like this."</p>
<p>"He would be sedated the whole time. He wouldn't even know he'd moved until he woke up in Central."</p>
<p>She didn't respond, and Roy lost himself in his thoughts again. He tried to breathe deep, to dispel the numbness in his chest. He was probably in a bit of shock, still trying to process what had happened, as all of them were. Too much had happened to Ed, and they still didn't even know the extent of it. What horrors had he witnessed? What awful things had been done to him? Physical recovery was going to be hard enough, and there was no telling what kind of psychological damage had been wrought.</p>
<p>Ed was always so strong. He was energy and light, red and gold, nothing but conviction and passion. He could do anything, overcome any obstacle, but Roy wasn't so sure this time. Ed always claimed he wasn't small, that he wasn't a kid, but now Roy was torn. He wanted to believe that Ed was big enough, strong enough to take what had been dealt him and recover from it.</p>
<p>But Roy couldn't help but see how small he looked, how vulnerable, lying there like a broken toy, abused and discarded. How could a child recover from this? How could anyone recover from this?</p>
<p>"Sir?"</p>
<p>The gentle hesitation in her voice made him turn to look at her. She looked tired, pale, and maybe her eyes glistened a bit, but she looked so beautiful and so strong, much stronger than Roy felt. "He'll be alright," she said with a warm smile, and though her voice shook, he could hear the conviction there. She had faith in Ed, she knew he would pull through this, just like he pulled through everything else.</p>
<p>Roy wished he had that faith, too. "I hope so," he whispered, turning back to the frail boy on the bed, trapped in artificial sleep, and he prayed that it was too deep for dreams.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy was able to get the boy out of there first thing the next morning.</p><p>Despite the nagging of the doctor and the recommendations of the head nurse and staff psychologist, Roy made the arrangements to transport him on the early train to Central. Ed was deeply sedated the whole time, sleeping away in the medical car while Roy and his team spent the restless hours in their private passenger car, poring over Ed's case file.</p><p>In the brief time his team had to investigate the crime scene, they had uncovered relatively little, and Roy couldn't help but be frustrated. The scene had been wiped clean, the perpetrators leaving nothing incriminating or useful behind except for one battered automail arm. He hoped that, once Ed was ready, he could give him more information about his captors, but he wasn't holding his breath. Who knew how long he had been blinded? He might not have even seen the room he was in, much less the faces of those responsible.</p><p>The train ride itself turned out to be unproductive, aside from heightening everyone's anxiety and frustration. The only conclusion they came to was that Ed's testimony was their only hope for a solid lead on anything.</p><p>Medical cars were given special privileges due to their often critical cargo, and the train was on a straight route to Central. They arrived before the sun came up early the next morning, tired and irritable, but glad to be back in warmer climate, especially Roy. Roy abhorred the cold.</p><p>After sending his team home and telling them to take the day off, he escorted Ed to the military hospital, and after they promised he would be kept sedated a while longer, he went home to take care of basic hygiene and catch some much needed sleep. He didn't really want to leave Ed there alone, but he was dead on his feet and the nurses gave him the ultimatum; go home or be admitted. He felt much better about leaving Ed in a hospital he could trust, though. He had been a patient there more times than he cared to think about and had at some point flirted with at least half of the nurses on staff. They were people he knew, and he rested a lot better knowing that.</p><p>It was late into the afternoon when Roy finally woke up and made himself presentable, dragging his exhausted body to the hospital.</p><p>He probably shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to find Hawkeye there in Ed's room, a box of paperwork at her feet as she forged his signature on some official document or another. A glance at the form in the bed told him Ed was still out cold.</p><p>Roy recovered quickly enough. He plastered a thin smile on his face, allowing her to move the stack of files from the only other chair and dropping heavily into it, nursing his cup of cheap hospital coffee as he did. "Isn't that illegal?" he asked, watching her scrawl his name with disturbing accuracy across a request form.</p><p>She didn't even look up. "What should be illegal is how long it takes you to get these done. Sir," she added.</p><p>A weary smirk tugged at his lips. "How long have you been here?"</p><p>"Not too long. He's off the sedative, so they're expecting him to wake up soon. Nothing else to report." Her voice was smooth, but Roy caught her worrying glance at the emaciated form on the bed.</p><p>His eyes drifted to the boy. Ed looked better in the afternoon light, his skin gaining some color back to it. The heart monitor still beeped steadily, and Roy wanted to think that the dark rings under his eyes had faded a bit. It was almost easy to fool himself into believing Ed was just asleep instead of forcibly kept under, as if he could wake up at any moment, golden eyes sharp and irritable and he would demand to know why the "Creepy Idiot Colonel" was watching him sleep.</p><p>Funny. What Roy had once found terribly annoying, he now wanted more than anything in the world.</p><p>"Any word from Alphonse?" he asked softly, unable to tear his eyes from Ed.</p><p>"He called your office yesterday, while we were away. I had told the secretary to have him come back to Central straight away if he called, so he should be on his way."</p><p>He almost smiled. Leave it to Hawkeye to think of everything. "Good. They're going to need each other."</p><p>Eventually, Hawkeye shifted a stack of papers into his lap, and with an exaggerated sigh, he accepted her proffered pen and began reviewing and signing, but it was halfhearted, at best. He honestly wasn't paying too much attention, and he absently hoped he didn't sign a declaration of war or something.</p><p>Every last scrap of his concentration evaporated when he saw Ed's fingers twitch.</p><p>He put his current paper aside, leaning forward to stare intently at the boy. Hawkeye had noticed, too, but she finished the document she was scanning before putting it down and watching with equal intensity.</p><p>The heart monitor picked up just a fraction as the boy was roused from his faux sleep and gently pulled into reality. Roy watched, heart hammering in his chest with hope and trepidation, as Ed's brow wrinkled, lips pulling down in a frown. His only hand curled into a fist, and his eyes slowly fluttered open.</p><p>They were pale and clouded and Roy felt a stab of nausea looking at them, the thought of what they would mean for Ed weighing down his very soul.</p><p>Roy was afraid to speak, afraid to startle him while he was in such a fragile, vulnerable state. He could only watch as Ed suddenly went tense, the bleary expression often associated with just waking up evaporating to reveal alarm. Ed quieted his breathing, listening, carefully curling his legs up protectively around him with only a small wince to acknowledge his many injuries. His hand wrapped around his throat as probably a million foreign sounds assaulted his ears.</p><p>"I hear your breathing," he whispered, voice small and shaking, his usual anger and defiance heartbreakingly absent. "Who's there?"</p><p>"It's us, Ed," Roy murmured softly, but his voice still startled the boy badly.</p><p>Ed flinched back away from the closeness of the sound, burrowing deeper into the back of the propped up bed, until recognition seemed to register on his face. He stopped, a cautious frown lining his face. "Colonel?" he asked.</p><p>One simple little word shouldn't be allowed to contain so much desperation.</p><p>"That's right," he answered, struggling to keep his voice light. "Hawkeye's right here with me."</p><p>Something unrecognizable flitted across his face, then it was gone, swallowed by caution. "Where are we?"</p><p>"You're at the military hospital in Central," Roy supplied. "We brought you back here yesterday. You slept through the whole thing."</p><p>A look of panic briefly crossed his face, and Roy wondered what it was about. "I . . . slept through it? I was moved halfway across Amestris and I didn't know it?"</p><p>Of course. For someone like Ed, control was everything. Freedom to <em>have</em> that control was everything. His lifestyle required him to be informed and make difficult decisions for the best interest of him and his little brother. He had so many responsibilities, so much relying on him; that so much could happen to him, without his knowledge or consent, was probably a terrifying notion.</p><p>Roy struggled to find words to reply, to comfort him, but nothing came. Thankfully, Hawkeye saved him. "How are you feeling, Ed?" she asked, her voice warm.</p><p>Ed reacted to the new voice, not as badly as he had to Roy's, but it took him a second to look at ease with it. "I'm fine," he answered, closing his eyes, and though he didn't know why, it bothered Roy to see him forcibly uncurl himself, to hide how broken his body was, how afraid he felt. "Where's Al?"</p><p>Naturally that would be Ed's priority. Al was always Ed's priority, but Roy didn't want to tell him he was up north, in the same area Ed had been abducted from. That would do nothing good for him. "He should be here soon," he explained lamely.</p><p>Lame or not, it seemed to satisfy Ed, which also bothered Roy. Ed was never this easy to satisfy. Maybe he was hurting too much to question it.</p><p>Ed suddenly went very still, whole body tensing and face alert. Roy was about to ask what was wrong until he noticed his sightless eyes fixed near the door, where a doctor was standing, scribbling absently on a clipboard as if oblivious to the doorway he had stopped in.</p><p>"It's just the doctor, Edward," Hawkeye soothed, voice softer than petals.</p><p>Ed didn't relax, though. If anything, his anxiety seemed to heighten. "Doctor?" he whispered.</p><p>"Ah, Major Edward Elric!" the doctor said, his tenor voice jovial as he finally looked up from his clipboard and entered the room. He was a young man, maybe just a bit younger than Roy, with a trim build, auburn, shaggy hair, and sharp blue eyes that glistened with intelligence and a joy that was hard to fake.</p><p>Again, Ed flinched violently, pressing back into the pillow behind him as if he could stuff his whole body in its feathery mass and disappear.</p><p>If the doctor noticed Ed's obvious terror, he didn't comment on it. He stepped up to the bed, keeping up a steady stream of dialogue as he did. "My name is Doctor James Silas, but most people just call me Jim, which you are more than welcome to," he offered with a warm grin, as if he didn't know Ed couldn't see it. "So, what would you like me to call you? Major? Fullmetal? Mr. Elric?"</p><p>Ed blinked at the sudden invitation of his preference, his surprise seeming to chase away his caution for just a brief moment, long enough for him to uncurl himself slightly. "Ed is fine . . ."</p><p>Roy suddenly understood what the doctor's game was. He was constantly talking, making noise to let Ed track him. He was giving him the power over how to address him, something small yet meaning so much for someone like Ed. It was as if he knew how much Ed needed it without being told, and Roy had a sudden admiration for this doctor.</p><p>"Ha, very good!" he smiled, scribbling on his clipboard. His eyes jumped up to meet his and Hawkeye's. "You must be Colonel Roy Mustang, and Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, am I right? It is most certainly a pleasure! Well, now, I do have some things I need to ask Ed, and some of them are quite personal, but I'll leave it up to Ed on if he wants you both to stay. Either way is fine with me."</p><p>Roy glanced from the doctor to Ed. The boy blinked again, as if stunned he was allowed to make that kind of decision. Roy was almost certain he'd ask for them to stay, and Roy was ready to do it, but something closed on the boy's face, shutting down that fearful expression before it had a chance to take over his visage, and he shook his head. "No, they can go, but . . . Colonel?"</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>"Will you . . . can you both wait outside? <em>Right</em> outside?"</p><p>Roy knew what he was asking. He knew that Ed desperately wanted them to stay, but he still had some, small fractured bit of pride left in him that prevented him from asking, from having him so close for something so personal. He was terrified to be alone with a stranger, but more terrified still to need Roy's support.</p><p>Roy should have been pleased, should have been happy at this spark of the old Edward, but he couldn't help feel something cold settle in his gut. Something made of rejection and terrible guilt.</p><p>Perhaps Ed blamed him.</p><p>The thought hit him hard. It wasn't as if Roy didn't blame himself, hadn't been blaming himself for three months over what had happened, but it was somehow different if Ed knew, if that was how he felt.</p><p>And Roy couldn't blame him.</p><p>Roy forced a smooth smile to his face and nodded. "Very well, we'll be right out the door. Just call if you need us."</p><p>Ed nodded, and maybe it was just his imagination, but Roy thought he heard the heart monitor pick up and the boy's breathing escalate as he and Hawkeye left the room.</p><p>He shut the door on the doctor's bubbly voice, and leaned against the wall. He could hear the doctor babbling, then Ed's occasional monotone answer, but not enough to make out anything. As Ed's commanding officer, he would get the whole medical report anyway, so he wasn't too worried about eaves dropping.</p><p>He was just worried about the way Ed had asked him to leave.</p><p>"What are you brooding about, sir?" Hawkeye asked, her voice about as wry as it ever got.</p><p>He turned his head to give her a sidelong scowl. "I'm not <em>brooding</em>, Hawkeye."</p><p>"Whatever you say, sir," she said, obviously not believing a word he said.</p><p>He thought a moment, not liking the way his thoughts spiraled downward. "Do you think he blames me?"</p><p>Her delicate eyebrows knitted together as she came to lean against the wall beside him. "For what happened? Sir, he hasn't even had time to process, yet. This is the first time he's woken up mostly lucid. It's not fair for you to ask him to be himself. Not after what he's been through."</p><p>She had a power over him that no one else had. Their long history made her painfully easy to talk to, and it was as if Roy couldn't keep his thoughts to himself when he was alone with her. She was always his rock in the storm, his pillar of reason in an uncertain world. Even when he didn't say a word, even when he had his carefully crafted mask of stoicism in place, she could read his mind like an open book.</p><p>"That's the thing, Hawkeye," he said, fisting his hands and crossing them over his chest. "He shouldn't be kicking us out. He was scared to death, but he did it anyways. Like he blamed me for it and didn't want me around . . . which I suppose I deserve."</p><p>She didn't respond for a moment, and Roy knew she was agreeing with him. His guilt was obvious, just one more sin to add to his bloodstained gloves. He may as well have done the deed himself instead of sending Ed all the way up north and saved the State travel money.</p><p>"Perhaps it was a bad call," she agreed, her voice subdued as she stared at the pristine tiled floors. "But at fault or not, he needs you right now. Even if he can't admit it aloud, it's plain as day. So quit wallowing in your self-pity and be there for him. Sir," she added with a tight smile and a warm gaze.</p><p>Roy felt a weak smile tug at his own lips, but commotion in the room behind him made him pause. He couldn't make out any words, but he could plainly hear Ed's voice increasing in volume.</p><p>The door suddenly opened, and Doctor Silas' face leaned out, a gentle, worried look on it. "Ed wanted me to ask you if you would come back in for a moment." His words were polite, his tone even, but Roy saw the sad anxiety on his face, and heard Ed's pleas from behind, and Roy quickly pushed past him.</p><p>Ed was curled in on himself, his hand around his throat again. He had his eyes screwed shut, burying his face against the pillow, as if begging it to swallow him. "Where is he? Where's Al?" he asked, voice hopeless and broken.</p><p>"Fullmetal," Roy said, voice firm but kind. Inside, though, his guts were twisting. He hated to see Ed this way.</p><p>Ed responded like a moth to flame. The anguish on his face abated somewhat, and his eyes opened, hopelessly blank. "Colonel?" his hand started to unwind from his throat, but stopped, hesitating.</p><p>Roy knew what he was after. He placed gentle hand on the boy's bare shoulder. Ed flinched harshly, then released his neck long enough to latch on. Roy tried not to notice the tears leaking from his damaged eyes.</p><p>A weak, bitter laugh strangled its way from Ed's throat. "I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm sorry, I don't know how I got to be so pathetic."</p><p>
  <em>I know how. And I'm sorry.</em>
</p><p>"Don't worry about it, Fullmetal," Roy said, careful to keep his voice smooth. The doctor caught Roy's eye and made a gesture out to the hall. He nodded. "I have to go make a phone call, but I'll be right back." Ed went ridged under his hand, so Roy continued, "You should keep Hawkeye here, though. She'll just want to tag along to chew me out for cancelling my appointment again."</p><p>It was all a lie, something to save Ed his pride, and Roy could see the appreciation in those watery, pale eyes. He nodded, and with great hesitation, let go of Roy's hand, fisting the sheets next to his throat instead.</p><p>Roy followed the doctor out the door and Hawkeye quickly took his place at Ed's side, resting her gentle hand near his on the bed, close enough for Ed to know it was there and grab it if he needed to.</p><p>The doctor shut the door, blocking them from sight and Roy turned his attention to the man. "What was that about?"</p><p>Silas offered him a worn, sad smile. "I can only imagine. He's just gone through one of the worst things the human spirit can experience, and he's only a child. Think if you will what it might be like to be in pain ever since the day you were robbed of your sight. You've just yanked him from a dark reality and thrust him into a totally new environment."</p><p>Roy nodded. "He can't believe he's safe."</p><p>"He can't believe it, and he doesn't have the eyes to confirm it. The only safe points for him are what is familiar; things like you and the Lieutenant, your touch, your voices. He has post-traumatic stress disorder in the worst way, and he doesn't have the senses to properly determine what is real from the nightmares in his head. He needs to be around familiar things and familiar people, and I'm afraid this hospital just isn't going to do."</p><p>Roy eyed him suspiciously. "That's not what doctors are supposed to say. Doctors are supposed to dig in their claws and hang on for as long as possible."</p><p>A knowing smile crossed the younger man's lips. "Well, sometimes medicine isn't the answer. Sometimes it takes something more."</p><p>Roy decided that he liked this doctor. "What do you suggest for his treatment, then?"</p><p>"Well, I'd like for him to stay the week, if he can stand it, but we'll have to play that by ear. If we have to, we'll send him home and do house calls. He needs people he knows and trusts here at all times, if that can be done. I know you're a busy man, but he seems to respond very well to your presence."</p><p>Roy nodded. He would stick around as long as he could, as long as Ed would let him. At least until Alphonse arrived. "And then?"</p><p>"Well, I'm no psychiatrist, but he'll definitely be needing one. I would give him some time to adjust before calling one in, though, as long as he doesn't become a danger to himself or others. I can have our automail specialist look at his arm and leg, but it's probably best if he's sedated for that. I believe you recovered his original automail, correct? Good. I don't know much about automail, but his port looks like someone ran excessive amounts of electricity through it. It will require some pretty strenuous repair."</p><p>Roy ground his teeth together. The things they had done to him . . . "What about his neck?" he asked. "Why does he keep grabbing it?"</p><p>"Well, aside from the obvious chaffing from his restraints, the initial report states there were teeth marks around his throat, probably from the animals he was kept with."</p><p>Roy's blood ran cold. "One of those . . . <em>things</em> went for his throat?" He couldn't get the image of Ed, lying in that cold basement, naked and blind and bleeding with one of those creatures attached to his neck, out of his mind. It would be terrifying at any other time, but when he was so weak and vulnerable . . . Roy suppressed a shudder.</p><p>Silas interpreted it as a rhetorical question. "It probably almost killed him, so he's naturally going to be very protective of it. I'd recommend not touching it without his expressed permission."</p><p>Roy nodded numbly. "What happens after he's out of the hospital?" When Ed was in Central, he stayed in the dorms with Al, but Roy wasn't sure he liked the idea of them being on their own in that kind of environment so soon.</p><p>"I'd recommend him staying someplace familiar, again with someone he knows. He's got a bumpy road ahead of him, and new things are just going to slow him down." He scribbled something on his clipboard. "Well, I have to finish my rounds for this evening, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'll get a cot sent down for whoever will be staying the night with him," he said around a knowing smile.</p><p>Roy gave a smile of his own, offering his hand. "Thank you, doctor."</p><p>"Please, call me Jim, Colonel," he said, giving his hand a firm shake.</p><p>"Roy."</p><p>Jim nodded and turned away, bouncing down the halls with a spring in his step and a merry greeting for the nurse's desk. After visiting with a doctor like that, Roy couldn't help but feel a bit more optimistic, just a bit more hopeful, as he turned back to enter Ed's room.</p><p>"Colonel Mustang?"</p><p>An unfamiliar nurse approached him from the main desk, a folded piece of paper in her hands. "A message from Central Command."</p><p>He gave her a polite smile and took the paper. "Thank you."</p><p>She smiled back at him, casting a sad glance in the room behind him before walking away.</p><p>Roy sighed, unfolding the paper with trepidation, wondering what had gone wrong in his absence. He felt himself brighten considerably, though, upon reading its contents.</p><p>Alphonse had phoned in to tell them he was boarding the last train of his route. He would be in Central by dawn.</p><p>Optimistic indeed.</p><hr/><p>Ed couldn't stop the yelp that escaped his lips as he kicked his leg, trying desperately to get away from whatever had touched his foot. The dogs, they would never let him rest. He could almost feel their eyes on him, their cold, desperate hunger rolling from their wasted bodies in dark ripples. He protected his throat at all costs, the only thing that kept him breathing, even as he tried to fend off the beast and the cold panic that was suddenly burning through his veins.</p><p>"Whoa, Ed!" a startled voice cried, so close that he jumped even more. Someone was down there with him, coming for him. A warm hand clamped down on his flesh foot and he thrashed instinctively, his thoughts stuck on an endless, frantic loop.</p><p>
  <em>Get away. Get away, get away, get away!</em>
</p><p>"Fullmetal, <em>stop that!"</em></p><p>He froze, the loop of his thoughts collapsing into an unsupported mess as this new information flooded over him. He remembered, everything rushing back to him in a wave. He was in Central, in the hospital. The Colonel was here, he was safe. He had only been dreaming.</p><p>Unless, of course, this was the dream and the other was his true reality. He didn't know, and there was no way to be sure. He felt coarse fabric under his body, smelled antiseptics, but those things could be faked. That wasn't enough to know for sure. Without his sight, he was floating in a sea of blackness, lost and ungrounded. Even his pain, the only constant he knew, was dulled, made artificial somehow, and it scared him. He had always known he was awake by how much everything hurt, but now even that certainty was gone.</p><p>All he had now was this familiar voice, a voice that could just be his fractured mind playing cruel tricks.</p><p>His heart pounded. He didn't know. He couldn't see, so he <em>couldn't</em> know. He pressed his body against the soft mass behind him, pulling his legs up around him, struggling to find something to latch onto, to ground him.</p><p>The hand was back, this time on the skin of his arm. He flinched, the reflex drilled into him, touch long associated with pain, but Mustang's soft voice came to him. "Shh, Ed. Everything's fine."</p><p>That voice, that hand, this had to be real. If it wasn't, his mind was doing an awfully good job faking it. He smelled a faint, spicy scent, like earth and mesquite, a balm to his frantic thoughts, and he allowed the hand anchor him in the world, giving the pressure on his bicep his undivided attention. Just something so the dark world would stop spinning around him.</p><p>He slowly got his breathing under control, inhaling and exhaling slowly, like Teacher had taught him.</p><p>"Are you alright?" Mustang asked. Ed heard the trepidation in his voice, the worry.</p><p>
  <em>The pity.</em>
</p><p>He hated this. He hated being so afraid, so unsure. His pride, everything he was, had died somewhere back in that basement, and he didn't know if it could be brought back. All that was left of him now was this pathetic excuse of an existence, helpless and skittish and painfully isolated. Half the time he couldn't tell the present from the past, and he still wasn't sure he was entirely convinced of what he was sensing.</p><p>He wanted to get up, to leap from the bed. He wanted to run outside and scream and shout his frustration to the world, to track down the people who did this to him and rip them apart.</p><p>But as it was, he was quailing at the sound of his superior's voice, jumping every time a nurse passed by his door or when the air conditioning kicked on.</p><p>He was pathetic and he could feel it destroying him.</p><p>"Ed?" the Colonel questioned, the earlier worry turning into something a touch more urgent, the hand on his shoulder squeezing gently.</p><p>"I'm fine," he muttered, wishing vainly that he had the strength to push the Colonel's hand away, to tell him to take his pity and get away from him. But the hand was his anchor, and he simply couldn't release it, much less ask for Mustang to leave.</p><p>Much to his shame, the Colonel seemed to sense it. He didn't move his hand, and if anything, the voice sounded closer. "If that's what 'fine' looks like, I don't want to see you when you've had a bad day." There was just the barest trace of humor in his voice, but it was sad, a far cry from their usual banter. Like he was going easy on him, just because he was hurt and blind.</p><p>But Ed didn't have it in him to dredge up an insult. He realized suddenly that his eyes were open, and let them close. He was ashamed of them. They were a testimony to how horribly he had failed, how far he had fallen. Besides, it wasn't like they were doing him any good open anyways. "I'm fine. Sorry I woke you up." He was waiting, almost fearfully, for the hand to move and Mustang to go back to his cot on the other side of the room.</p><p>The hand still rested there, still tethering him to the moment. "Don't be ridiculous, Fullmetal. I walked all the way over here. I'm going to stay a while."</p><p>A weak smile made his lips twitch, but it felt pitiful where it sat on his lips. "Lazy old man."</p><p>Mustang let out a faintly amused snort. "Annoying brat."</p><p>No one spoke for a moment, and Ed was starting to hear things, scrapings and clicks and whispers that threatened to take his mind back to that basement, so he focused on the hand on his arm, the gentle whisper of Mustang's breathing, the earthy scent of him, willing his mind to the present. "How long was I gone?" he asked, desperate for another hold to the moment, even if it wouldn't last.</p><p>Mustang seemed to hesitate, though Ed wasn't sure. He could have just missed the question, but there was some interruption of his breathing that told him Mustang had heard the question and wasn't comfortable with it. "Almost three months."</p><p>Three months? That was it? It had seemed like an eternity, a lifetime. He felt like he had been in the dark forever. "Was Al . . . was he okay?"</p><p>"He was fine, Ed," Mustang assured him, a little too hurriedly.</p><p>Ed didn't trust his answer. "You're lying," he stated.</p><p>The hand on his shoulder twitched uncomfortably. "I'll let him fill you in. He'll be here in a few hours."</p><p>Ed still wasn't pleased, but he nodded. "Fine."</p><p>The pause grew too long, and his mind started to drift. He was tired, he knew. He was completely exhausted, but he didn't want to try to go back to sleep. He hated sleep. It was too much of a blurring of the lines between reality and nightmare, and he wanted to stay here where he was, relatively safe from the demons in his head.</p><p>At least, he thought so, until he felt the sheet over him shift and panicked. He hissed, yanking his arm from Mustang's grip to swipe out at whatever had touched him, only panicking further when his hand met only air and he couldn't find what it was, what had touched him.</p><p>"It's okay, Ed! It was just the sheet settling," Mustang assured him with a strained tone, reattaching his hand to his shoulder.</p><p>Ed gritted his teeth, shame and exhaustion tearing through his body.</p><p>He had tried to attack a bed sheet.</p><p>He hated this <em>so much.</em></p><p>How weak he must look. How <em>pathetic</em>. And this was what his little brother was going to see. After his big brother missing for months, he would come back to find <em>this</em> in his stead. Would Al even recognize him?</p><p>And just how long would the Colonel stick around? Whether Ed admitted it to anyone or not, he was an important man, and he had important things to do. It was foolish for him to be here now. Ed was no good to him anymore. Without his eyes, he was less than useless, and it didn't take a prodigy to see that.</p><p>He was ashamed for Mustang to see him like this. Ashamed, but too afraid to tell him to leave.</p><p>So pathetic.</p><p>"Ed?"</p><p>"Just go back to sleep, Mustang," he said, his voice heavy and broken, even to his own ears.</p><p>Mustang sighed, a quiet whisper of sound. He squeezed Ed's arm one more time before letting go. Ed tried to regulate his breathing as he did, listening to the Colonel's soft footfalls as he moved across the floor, the creak of cheap springs and the stiff rustle of sheets as he climbed and settled into his bed.</p><p>Ed tried to focus on Mustang's breathing, but soon even that was too difficult. Like a boat being untethered and set adrift, Ed floated in the inky blackness, waiting for the next nightmare to rear its ugly head and drag him under.</p><p>Praying Al would hurry.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Had Al possessed a human body, he would have probably been shaking. As it was, his soul was quivering with nervous energy that demanded to be burned somehow, and the walk from the train station to the hospital didn't seem to help. He wrung his gauntlets together, shifting restlessly side to side as the elevator slowly rose from the first floor to the second.</p><p>Three months. It had been <em>three months</em> since his brother had left the dorm with a suitcase slung over one shoulder and a smile on his face. He had told Alphonse not to worry, that he would see him in one week tops, and then they could get back to the "stuff that actually matters." Then he walked out the door, and disappeared.</p><p>Those months had been a numb blur for Al. He had visited every town, every farm, every abandoned shack. His metal body was beaten and rusted, his gauntlets worn. He didn't have time to stop for self-maintenance, though, not with Ed missing. He had called the Colonel often to see if he had heard anything, but was always met with disappointment, and every day, he could feel his soul slowly crushing under the strain of it, the anguish.</p><p>The guilt.</p><p>What kind of little brother couldn't save their missing sibling? Did Ed blame him? Ed had probably thought that Al gave up, was just going to leave him to rot in some prison cell or ditch on the side of the road. Or maybe he was scared that Al had abandoned him, welcomed the chance to be rid of him. Or had he just accepted that Al was better off without him and gave up?</p><p>All of those possibilities drove him, fueled his desperation as he tore apart the countryside. He had been at the very border when he found a phone. He was about to cross into Drachma, and he hadn't been sure if he would have access to a phone again for a very long time. Drachma was dangerous. It could get him killed, but he had exhausted his options in Amestris, and if there was even the slightest chance Ed was there, he was willing to risk it.</p><p>But when the Colonel's secretary had said to come straightaway, he knew. She didn't have to say why, because Al felt it in his soul. It was like seeing the sun rise after an endless night, and if Al could have cried, he would have.</p><p>That was two days ago. Two days was enough time to worry about what condition he would find Ed in.</p><p>The nervous energy was about to shake him apart from the soul out as the elevator finally settled at the second floor and let out a merry <em>ding</em>, doors sliding open.</p><p>He almost collided with Mustang in his haste.</p><p>"Alphonse," Mustang greeted, taking a calculated step back from the suit of hard metal and dangerous spikes.</p><p>"Sorry, sir," he apologized quickly. "Where's Ed?" He started to brush past the Colonel, but was halted by a hand on his chest plate.</p><p>"Alphonse, we need to talk."</p><p>"In a minute, sir. I need to see Ed," he insisted, the faint beginnings of hysteria creeping into his voice as he again tried to push past him. It had been three months. Talks could wait until after he had seen his brother with his own eyes.</p><p>"Alphonse."</p><p>Something in the Colonel's voice stopped Al cold. He turned slowly to face Mustang, really looking at him this time. The man was bedraggled, dressed in rumpled trousers and a wrinkled shirt. He was pale and his dark hair was an untidy mess on his head. One thing Mustang prided himself on was his appearance. He was the definition of immaculate, and the fact that he looked like something the cat dragged in set off alarm bells in Al's head.</p><p>But probably the most distressing thing of all was the Colonel's eyes. At the surface, they appeared calm and collected, but Al had spent years observing the Colonel, watching those eyes, and though they seemed strong and resilient, Al saw the haunted look there, a trepidation and an anguish that couldn't be described with words.</p><p>Al stopped. "Sir . . ."</p><p>"Come with me."</p><p>The Colonel led Alphonse down the quiet hallway to a small waiting room. The sun was just beginning to paint the horizon a pale pink outside, softening the room in a delicate, hallowed sort of silence. It was far from comforting, though; it reminded Al of their mother's graveside. It was haunting, and Al didn't like the way Mustang watched him, observing him as if he were a ticking time bomb.</p><p>The Colonel continued to study him, not speaking as his eyes raked over his dented and scarred suit, as if trying to determine if Al himself was alright. Al felt his notoriously infinite patience trickling away. Ed was on this floor, probably less than a hundred feet away, and the Colonel was here wasting the time Al could be spending with him.</p><p><em>"What is it?"</em> he snapped. Maybe he would be ashamed of that later, of nearly biting off Mustang's head when he had saved his brother and was only showing concern for Alphonse, but right now he had to get to Ed, and Mustang was standing in his way.</p><p>Mustang flinched, as if catching himself. He took a deep breath and looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze cautious. "You know we found Ed."</p><p>Alphonse wanted to scream. Of course he knew they found him! Why else would he be here?! Some small, muted part of him that still held fast to manners made him keep his mouth shut, though, and only offer a nod in response.</p><p>"There are some things you need to know before you go in there, Alphonse."</p><p>And he told him.</p><p>And never had Alphonse wanted to cry more for his brother.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>It took Alphonse almost half an hour to regain control of himself. If he had possessed a human body, it would have taken much longer.</p><p>Finally, when he was ready, the Colonel put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and guided him to Ed's room.</p><p>The Colonel had warned him that Ed might panic at the sound, that he might shy and try to get away from him at first, but as soon as Al rounded the corner, Ed was sitting up, propped on his only arm and sightless eyes fixed on the doorway.</p><p>"Al?" he whispered.</p><p>Alphonse knew everything about that voice. He knew every inflection, every tone, but this was new. Ed's voice sounded dry, almost painful, as if he hadn't used it for more than screaming in a very long time, and it made Al wish he could cry. There was a desperate edge to it, too, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.</p><p>And fear. Ed's voice should never sound like that . . . "Al, is that you?"</p><p>If he had been human, he wouldn't be able to stifle his tears.</p><p>As it was, he just felt his soul break.</p><p>Ed's eyes, once golden and beautiful, were a cloudy shade of withered leaves and bleached sand.</p><p>"Al?" he asked again, desperation escalating to near panic. He looked to be about a breath away from leaping out of bed.</p><p>"I'm here, Brother." Just because he didn't have a body didn't mean he didn't have emotions. He choked on his, the sentence barely making it from his metal body. "I'm here."</p><p>The corners of Ed's eyes softened and Al saw tears glisten. <em>"Al,"</em> he choked.</p><p>With some difficulty, Al wrenched his body from its position frozen in the doorway and flew to Ed's side. "Brother, I'm here," he said again. Ed's hand was reaching, searching through the air, so Al let him touch his gauntlet, afraid to do anything more.</p><p>But Ed latched onto his glove like a lifeline, tugging him closer to the bed and trying to get his arm around Al's metal waist.</p><p>"Careful, Fullmetal," Roy cautioned from the door, voice oddly soft. Al had never heard him address Ed like that before. "You'll hurt yourself."</p><p>Ed ignored him completely, whipping off the covers in frustration and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Brother, don't—" Ed was out of bed before Al could get the sentence out, leaning heavily against Alphonse, clinging to his armor with his only hand, the tears coming freely now.</p><p><em>"Al,"</em> Ed whispered, burying his face into Al's side. "I'm so glad . . . I thought—"</p><p>Without warning, his legs buckled underneath him. Al caught him before he hit the floor, gently lifting his older brother into his arms and cradling him close, not ever wanting to let go. If Ed had been himself, he would never have allowed such contact, but he wrapped his hand around Al's collar tightly, like a child might latch onto a parent. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Al was glad Ed was allowing him to hold him. It almost quieted the panic in his soul, the tension in his metaphoric heart.</p><p>"I thought I'd never see—" Ed cut the sentence off abruptly, face twisting into an anguished look. The slip up was not lost on Al. "I mean, I . . . you're here, Al. You're here, and that's all that matters," he said decidedly, tears streaming down his face as he pressed his cheek to Al's chest plate. Al wished he could feel it.</p><p>"No, <em>you're</em> here, Brother. That's all that matters," Al whispered, holding the delicate body as tightly as he dared.</p><p>Ed shook his head, a watery smile lighting his face the barest bit.</p><p>Alphonse wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. He was vaguely aware of Mustang leaving with Havoc in tow, though Al didn't know when Havoc got there, or if perhaps he had been there all along. A nurse walked in at one point, but was dragged back out by a pale hand that looked suspiciously like the Colonel's. The sun rose high in the sky, but Al didn't let go. They didn't say anything, but neither of them needed to. Ed just clung to him, and Al just held him and they simply <em>were</em>.</p><p>They were finally together as they should be.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Al finally managed to convince Ed to get back in bed, but only by staying by the bedside with one enormous hand wrapped around Ed's, the way Mustang said Ed needed it. Al didn't necessarily understand it yet, but he trusted the Colonel's judgment.</p><p>After releasing him, Al got a chance to look over his big brother, and he didn't like what he saw. Ed's normally tanned skin was pale and marred by stitches and bruises, and his hair was a tangled, limp mess instead of the neat braid he usually kept it in. He was so thin, ribs clearly visible under the cheap hospital gown, and even as Al watched his shoulder port seeped a small rivulet of blood where it met the skin, staining the bed sheets a horrible crimson from the recent strain.</p><p>But his eyes . . . those were by far the worst.</p><p>Al knew Ed. He knew him almost better than he knew himself. Ed was the kind of person that had to be doing something to feel useful. He was someone that needed a battle to fight, to do something physical and active and dangerous, and a goal to channel all of it towards.</p><p>More than that, Ed saw that his little brother needed him, and he tried his best to be everything that Al needed: a brother, father, mother, a friend and teacher, the disciplinarian, the rule maker and the rule breaker. Without a doubt Ed was the rock of their small, fractured family. He always tried to fill in all the roles that had been vacated in their lives, accepting challenging responsibilities forced upon him when he was barely seven.</p><p>Ed was also prideful, almost to a fault. He was fiercely independent, always needing to do things for the both of them all by himself. He accepted no charity, no help. He lived his life by Equivalent Exchange, and he wouldn't accept what he felt he hadn't earned.</p><p>And now all of that was jeopardized. There was no sense denying it. What those men had done to him, they compromised everything Ed was. They compromised his independence, his pride, his self-sufficiency. They compromised the only thing he wanted most in the world; the ability to find the Philosopher's Stone and get their bodies back, all in one felled swoop.</p><p>Edward without independence, without a purpose, was a terrifying thing to contemplate. Al had witnessed it firsthand, when they had tried to bring their mother back. When everything they had worked and sacrificed for came crashing down around them. Confined in that wheelchair, the look in Ed's eyes was much the same as it was now; raw, haunted, despaired.</p><p>There was something else there, though. Something Al only rarely caught glimpses of, but it always made his heart stop when he did. It was an expression that looked so foreign on Ed's face that Al wanted to wipe it away, to tell Ed to stop, it was scaring him.</p><p>It was fear. And fear was the last word Al associated with Ed. It wasn't like the quick, starting fear you feel for dark alleys and Homunculi, or even the desperate edge of possibly loosing someone close to you. It was something much deeper, much more broken. It was like the kind you see in the eyes of abused dogs.</p><p>"Hey, Al?" Ed murmured, unable to disguise a quiet edge of desperation in his voice, as if he were afraid Al wouldn't answer.</p><p>Al gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "What is it, Brother?"</p><p>The gesture seemed to take some of the tension from his face and he closed his sightless eyes with a slow, steadying breath. "Nothing," Ed responded with a small shake of his head. "Nothing."</p><p>Al stared at his brother, taking in the pained lines on his face. "Liar."</p><p>A feeble smile flitted across his face, like catching the reflection of the sun in a mirror, then it was gone. "Are you okay?"</p><p>It was a long moment before Al regained the ability to speak. Was <em>he</em> okay? After all Ed had been through, he wanted to know if <em>Al</em> was okay? "Don't be stupid, Ed. You have a lot more to worry about right now."</p><p>Muted gold eyes opened, a tiny frown appearing between them. "You haven't been taking care of yourself, Al," he chastised lightly, his pale hand stroking Al's leather gauntlet. "Your gloves are worn out."</p><p>Al found himself laughing, a shrill, almost hysteric sound. "I'll let you fix me up as soon as you get your arm back."</p><p>Ed's expression immediately closed. Al recognized it. It was the look he got when he was trying to protect Al from something, something that might hurt him to know. "I don't think that's a good idea."</p><p>If Al had possessed eyebrows, he might have frowned. "What do you mean?"</p><p>He turned his head away from Al, up to the ceiling, mouth turned down into a grimace as if finding the words was painful. "You know as well as I do that alchemists need to actually see what they're transmuting, Al," he said, voice muted. "I'm not risking you for something as silly as maintenance. You can do it yourself, it'll just be a pain."</p><p>Al didn't miss the longing in his voice. One of the things they stopped to do, just the two of them, was maintenance. The time was special to them both, one of the rare times they were forced to slow down and just focus on each other and not the problems of the world around them. There was a level of vulnerability and trust to having metal bodies repaired and automail limbs oiled and cleaned that made talking that much easier. Some of their most meaningful conversations had taken place while performing maintenance on the other, and Ed was grieving for it.</p><p>"We can talk about it later, Brother," Al assured him. "I think you need to rest now."</p><p>Again, that awful fear flared behind his eyes, and it didn't dim like it was supposed to. "I'm not tired," he insisted.</p><p>Was it wrong of Al to be despaired that his brother could no longer hide such a un-Ed-like emotion like fear? Before, if Ed had felt afraid, he would cover it easily behind his blasé comments and his cocky grin, but that armor had been broken, pierced and destroyed from abuse no one should have to endure. All he had now was a tortured soul, laid bare and vulnerable with no way to hide it.</p><p>But maybe that was Al's job now. Ed had always taken such good care of him, doing the best he knew how to make sure Al was protected and safe. Maybe it was Al's turn to step up, to be there for his brother now that he couldn't do it himself.</p><p>Maybe it was Al's chance to pay Ed back for all he'd done.</p><p>Al made a decision in that moment. He was going to get Ed's eyesight back. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he couldn't let his brother continue living like this. He knew in his heart that Ed would never be happy this way, even if he ever recovered enough to the point to pretend to be.</p><p>He would fix this, somehow.</p><p>Ed seemed to sense Al's thoughts. "Al? Are you okay?"</p><p>"I'm fine, Brother," he promised, hoping he could hear the smile in his voice. "Go to sleep, Ed. I know you're tired. I'll be here when you wake up."</p><p>Ed sighed heavily. "Okay." He rolled gingerly onto his side, taking Al's hand with him. He held it close to his chest and let his eyes close. "I'm glad you're here, Al."</p><p>Al almost choked on his words, soul smiling softly. "I'm glad, too."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turned out, Ed had to be taken out of the hospital a mere two days later.</p><p>Doctor Silas had suggested it, and Roy couldn't say that he disagreed with his assessment. Since he was stable, and was scheduled to be off the IV, there really was no reason to keep him there aside from wound care and his pending automail repair. Though it wasn't ideal, it was probably the safest option. The busy, chaotic environment was simply too much for Ed in his current state. He wasn't sleeping well at all, and he seemed to be in a constant state of alertness. Silas said such a state would only slow his physical and emotional healing, and that was the last thing he needed right now. Though he still needed more care, Silas said that with the team willing to pitch in and with daily house calls, Ed could recover faster in a more peaceful environment.</p><p>This, of course, left the question of where he was going to stay.</p><p>Roy still wasn't at ease with them being in the barracks, but there just wasn't a better place for them. Havoc and Breda shared a flat that was simply too far from the hospital, Falman and Feury stayed in the barracks, and Hawkeye had only a small apartment that wouldn't be able to accommodate Al. His home was completely out of the question. His relationship with Ed was strained on the best of days, and he doubted the boy would take well to staying in his home for any stretch of time in his current state.</p><p>And besides all of that, Silas insisted that he would do much better in a familiar environment. Alphonse immediately latched on to this idea, saying that Ed would be much more at ease in their old dorm and he could take care of his own brother just fine.</p><p>Roy was starting to get the gnawing impression that Alphonse was becoming jealous of the role he had in Ed's care. Since the boys had no family to speak of, and since he was Ed's commanding officer, he became the legal guardian in these instances and all decisions regarding Ed's care fell to him. Al made it a point to voice his opinion frequently and strongly, and did so with a challenging glare Roy's way.</p><p>It was undeniable that Ed and Al had a special relationship, their bond made unbreakable by hardship and loss no children should have to endure. They were all each other had, so Roy supposed it was only natural for Alphonse to become even more protective, more distrustful, when the very cornerstone of his whole world had shattered.</p><p>With lack of a better option, Roy signed the release form and transferred Ed back to his old dorm.</p><p>Needless to say, Ed didn't take the stress well. Silas wanted to avoid sedating him and putting the extra strain on his fragile system, but when Ed nearly punched an orderly's lights out and cracked the rib of another with his automail foot, all before they even got off the second floor, Silas had no choice but to put him under.</p><p>Once Ed was sedated, the trip was relatively uneventful. They quickly made it out of the hospital and left all the nurses and doctors behind. Havoc drove while Al held Ed in the back of Roy's car, his emaciated body swathed in blankets that moved gently with his shallow breathing. There, cradled in his little brother's arms and deep in artificial sleep, Roy decided it was the most peaceful he had seen him look since is rescue.</p><p>They arrived at the barracks, and Al carried his brother down the long corridor to their dorm. Mustang couldn't help but be surprised at how tidy the place was. Here and there an article of clothing was draped over a chair, or a few files were strewn on the floor, but overall, everything was neat and clean. If he had to guess, though, he would bet it was Alphonse's doing.</p><p>They put him to bed, and though Roy wished he could, he didn't have time to wait for Ed to wake up before he had to leave. He had spent far too much time away from his office over the past week and besides, he had an appointment to keep.</p><p>Though he would be lying if he said he wouldn't call to cancel it if he could.</p><p>He stepped into the Fuhrer's office, saluting smartly as he did. "Sir."</p><p>"Ah, Colonel Mustang," Bradley greeted with a warm smile and a casual salute from behind his grand desk on the other side of the room. His office was naturally the largest on base, making Mustang's own office feel like a janitor's closet in comparison. The windows behind the Fuhrer reached almost to the high ceiling, letting in a cheery stream of golden sunlight to wash over the desk and its occupant. The light, however, did nothing to dissipate Mustang's apprehension. "At ease, soldier," the Fuhrer said. "Won't you sit down?"</p><p>Roy marched up to the desk, seating himself rigidly at the edge of a chair in front of his superior. "You wanted to see me, sir?"</p><p>"Yes, I did," the older man said, pushing aside a stack of papers and propping his elbows on the desk's polished surface. He leaned forward and fixed his only eye on Roy, and though his expression appeared open, Roy didn't like the sense of unease creeping up his spine. Being around the Fuhrer always put him on edge for some reason, but this was something else. This was the sensing of bad news. "I hear you found Fullmetal. I'm relieved to hear you got him back here safely."</p><p>
  <em>Safe is a relative term.</em>
</p><p>"Yes, sir, we are pleased to have him back," Roy answered politely, but though his words were respectful, his mind was working overtime to puzzle out the true nature of this meeting. Granted Ed was a well-known and prized alchemist for the military, but Roy found it odd that the Fuhrer was getting involved at this point, after Ed's rescue.</p><p>"I'm sure," Bradley nodded. "Though of course, I hear his state is rather delicate. Your report stated he was badly tortured, even blinded."</p><p>Roy hated how he just <em>said</em> it, like it was just a strange happening and not a crippling, life-shattering event. He kept his mouth shut and only offered a stiff nod, lest he say something he regretted.</p><p>"This presents us with a problem, Colonel," Bradley continued, folding his hands before him. "To be harsh, the military has no use for soldiers that can't fight, and I'm afraid that Fullmetal is no longer capable of fulfilling his duties. The paperwork is currently being sent to your office for his discharge. I trust you'll see to it personally?"</p><p>
  <em>Discharged.</em>
</p><p><em>Discharged</em> <em>. . . Ed . . .</em> <em>discharged</em> . . .</p><p>That word . . . it wasn't fair that a word so simple could abolish so much.</p><p>Roy honestly hadn't even thought of it. How stupid could he <em>be?!</em> There was no way Ed could be allowed to stay in the military with a handicap like that!</p><p>But this . . . this was all Ed had left, his only hope of getting their bodies back. What would this do to him? The boy was already at the end of his rope, and with this last bit of his old life slipping away, what would be left for him to hold on to?</p><p>It was the final nail in the coffin, and Roy felt his chest go numb. He swallowed thickly, but his voice was steady when he replied, "I'll take care of it, sir."</p><p>Bradley nodded, mouth turned down sympathetically. "He has a long road ahead of him, but his time in the military has been quite lucrative. I'm sure he won't have much trouble in that regard."</p><p>Roy had all but tuned him out at this point. He could feel his hands shaking. "Sir," he murmured, a frail sort of agreement, but it was all he could muster.</p><p>The older man offered him a small, sad smile. "That is all, Colonel. I am truly sorry. Dismissed."</p><p>Roy barely got his feet under him, bringing a hand up to his forehead in a stiff salute before leaving on shaky legs.</p><p><em>Discharged . . . discharged . . .</em> The word chased itself around the inside of his head in an infinite, despairing loop. How was he going to tell Ed? How was he going to tell him that his last and best chance of restoring their bodies was gone?</p><p>Ed was all but destroyed now, but there was a very real chance that this could finish the job.</p><p>When Roy got back to his office, he ignored the soft greetings of the men and woman under his command. He walked past the front office and closed his door, then put his head down on his desk and closed his eyes.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed had been back in their dorm for almost a week. It was almost strange being in an environment that was once so familiar to him when he could see it. Ed recalled it almost as well as their old house in Resembool. He remembered it was small, nothing more than a glorified shoe box, really. The dorm had a small kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom, leaving only just enough room in the living area for two single beds on opposite walls and his desk, with a hole of a closet in the corner for their meager belongings. There was a window on the far wall that faced West, and Ed recalled with a stab of longing that he used to enjoy watching the sun set over the military grounds from his desk in front of it. The walls of the dorm were beige and at one time barren, but Al had long ago decided it was too depressing and had begun tacking post cards and maps around the room to bring some life to them, adding something new every time they returned from their travels.</p><p>It was small and crowded, but this was where he and Al spent most of their time when they were in Central. In a small, sad sort of way, it was home.</p><p>Not so much anymore.</p><p>Yes, there were certainly things that made the environment the same, familiar place it once was. The scents helped more than anything: the smell of iron from Al's suit, the clean, bright scent of the soap Winry had given him, and the dusty, thick smell of carpet and a room well lived in.</p><p>But there were things about it that had become foreign and unnerving, and in a strange way, it stung him. It felt as if somehow, the room itself had betrayed him. It was much quieter than the hospital was, but that was a double edged sword in itself, making the noises that were there that much more startling, that much more threatening. And the room itself, one that Ed once thought entirely too small, felt enormous. He had tried to walk from his bed to the kitchenette, only to become disoriented seconds later, that awful floating feeling stealing over him until his breath only came in quick, strangled gasps and he had to sit down and curl up on the floor, holding his throat until Al found him and gently guided him back to bed.</p><p>Ed hated that. He hated how his mind wondered, how the smallest of things jolted him back to that basement; cloth would swish and he could hear wolves padding through the dark like a whispered breeze, or an injury would flair and he could feel one inch nails being driven between his ribs, almost hear the cruel laughs of his captors as they tore him apart . . .</p><p>"Brother?" Al asked from Ed's side.</p><p>Ed pressed his body against Al's armor, trying to ground himself in the moment, to force himself to feel where he was. He was safe, in his dorm. It was night time, undoubtedly well after midnight, and Al had probably thought he was asleep. But Ed hated sleep these days, and the best he could manage was closing his eyes until his exhaustion was too great to fight. It seemed that Al had found him out, though. "What is it?"</p><p>"Are you okay?" he asked gently, his voice worried as it always was these days. "You're shaking."</p><p>Ed forced his lips into a fragile smile. "I'm fine. Just a little cold in here."</p><p>Al hesitated a moment. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to bed, Brother?" he asked. "It'll be warmer and you'll probably be more comfortable—"</p><p>Ed shook his head, tightening his grip on Al's weathered knee, as if afraid Al would force him to go. In all honestly, his body couldn't seem to adjust to the idea of a bed anymore, even after being in the hospital. The softness of it made him unstable, like he was drifting. There was nothing solid to hang on to, and it was too easy to let his mind wonder to images and memories he'd rather not think on.</p><p>Besides, he wanted to be as close to his little brother as possible. He much preferred sleeping on the floor, buried under a pile of blankets with his back pressed to Alphonse's side.</p><p>He felt his brother move and couldn't help but tense when the blankets over him shifted. Al wrapped the cloth about him tighter, then put a huge arm around him, holding him close.</p><p>Something about that small gesture made Ed sick.</p><p>He was so weak, so pathetic, and here Al was, holding him together. It was <em>his</em> job to be the caretaker, the guardian, and now Alphonse had to do it for him. When had their roles been reversed? When did Al become the big brother?</p><p>Alphonse shouldn't have to do that . . . he had already lost so much, and now, in a way, he had lost his big brother, too.</p><p>Ed just kept letting him down.</p><p>"Brother," Al began, the sound vibrating through his metal body. Ed had never noticed it so much until now, when his sight was gone. The suit hummed every time Al spoke, and Ed leaned into it, relishing the direct link to his little brother, as if he were feeling Al's very soul vibrate. "I've been thinking . . ." he trailed off, hesitating.</p><p>Ed hated how Al had to walk on eggshells around him, and he hated it even more that he knew he needed it. "About what?"</p><p>"Well, I wanted to go to the library and do some research sometime soon. Maybe in the morning or something," he said slowly, as if confessing a great sin.</p><p>Ed felt his own body go ridged, as if that were exactly what Al had done. The thought of Al being gone for any length of time seemed unbearable. He had just gotten back to his little brother. He wasn't ready to let him out of arms reach yet . . . "Oh?" he asked, trying vainly to sound indifferent, but the word came out choked.</p><p>"It wouldn't be long. Just an hour or so to find some books, but if you don't want me to, I understand. It can wait," he said, the last part rushed, probably sensing Ed's growing anxiety.</p><p>Ed took a calming breath, in and out slowly. "No, Al. You go if you want to. I'm sure I'll be fine for that long." He tried to sound teasing, but it came across weak. Really, though, he couldn't just expect Al to stick around the dorm all day, taking care of him like some kind of nurse. He couldn't expect everyone else's world come to a halt just because his had.</p><p>"Hey, it might be a good opportunity for the Colonel to come visit," he suggested brightly. "He's had to get caught up on a lot of work, so he has never been able to stay very long when Doctor Silas visits, but I bet he wouldn't mind coming over for a while."</p><p>Ed was torn. One part of him, the old Ed, was enraged at the implication that he couldn't take care of himself, even with this new hindrance. He had suffered handicaps before and managed to do most things by himself just fine.</p><p>The other part of him though, this new creature that cowered from unexpected thumps and unfamiliar voices, was terrified at the thought of being left alone for any amount of time. Who was going to pull him back from the nightmarish images in his head when he lost touch with reality? Who would save him when the monsters lurking in the darkness of his mind tried to overtake him?</p><p>"I don't need a babysitter," he said, but the protest was weak at best. He felt his cheeks flush with shame. It was one thing to be weak and vulnerable in front of his brother. It was a blow to his pride certainly, but Al had seen him at his worst before and, Ed hoped, would love him regardless.</p><p>Mustang, on the other hand . . . the man who constantly mocked and belittled him, who sent him out on wild chases and false leads and wasted his time on worthless missions. For him to see him like this, a ghost of himself, was nearly unbearable. Mustang was someone he had always tried to show up, to prove to him that he could be a dog of the military, but no one would ever own him, and that he could get their bodies back, despite his past mistakes.</p><p>With the proof of his failure burning fresh in his sightless eyes, Ed didn't know if he had the courage to be alone with Mustang again.</p><p>"I'm not saying that!" Al objected quickly. "It'll just be a good time for you to catch up."</p><p>Ed didn't respond, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. "Yeah, guess so," he relented, as if there had somehow been a chance he couldn't have accepted anyways.</p><p>He needed constant supervision. He needed someone to watch him, to be there when his mind dragged him back to that basement so they could drag him back out. He needed help changing the dressings on his wounds, to eat, to dress, to shower, and to even find the bathroom. He couldn't stand silence, but he could stand noise even less. Someone had to be there, watching him and helping him, or the darkness would consume him.</p><p>If he wasn't the most wretched creature in existence, he didn't know what else could be.</p><p>He buried his head in the blankets and wished desperately for light.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy watched silently as Silas finished up Ed's examination, only half listening as the young doctor babbled on about the intellectual benefits of polka. Roy was far too distracted trying to figure out what he was going to say to Ed to pay much attention.</p><p>It had been just over a week since he had spoken to the Fuhrer. Roy had stalled filling out the paper work for as long as possible, but his time was up. He had finished the last of it that morning and it would be processed the next day. That meant the Elrics had to be out of the barracks in three days' time.</p><p>And Roy still had no idea how he was going to tell them.</p><p>"So naturally, that makes polka the most accessible for all ages!" Silas concluded as he finished securing the final bandage around Ed's bare torso and taking a step back from the bed. "There, all done! How does it feel?"</p><p>Ed slowly propped himself up with one arm and Al's steadying hand on his back, murky eyes narrowed in thought. He looked like some kind of faux mummy, with bandages crisscrossing over every bit of visible skin. He turned his head toward Silas. "It's fine."</p><p>Roy decided that Ed looked a lot better than he had even a few days ago. Roy had been accompanying Doctor Silas every time he stopped by Ed's dorm in the evenings, and he couldn't deny that the boy was improving much faster than he had in the hospital. Physical injuries were starting to heal, and his coloring wasn't quite as washed anymore. He was even putting on a bit of weight with the implementation of his new diet, the shadows between his ribs less pronounced than they had been at the beginning of the week.</p><p>Even more encouraging was his behavior. Alphonse reported that he was getting more sleep, and his appetite was slowly returning to something healthier instead of the ravenous, starved sort of desperation he had been exhibiting at mealtime. Al even said some of his temper was starting to return in small doses. Silas mentioned that it wouldn't be too much longer before his work here was done.</p><p>"Well, everything is looking great!" Silas informed enthusiastically as he pulled out his pen light and flashed it in Ed's eyes, with the boy none the wiser. Silas' expression darkened slightly, apparently not finding what he wanted, but that didn't stop his stream of happy chatter. "Alphonse tells me you've been getting up and around some?"</p><p>Ed grimaced, as if remembering something particularly distasteful. "Some."</p><p>"Excellent!" Silas said approvingly, putting away his instruments into his bag. "Definitely some improvement, then! Tell me, how are you getting around? How is your balance?"</p><p>Ed looked like this was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He shifted uncomfortably, the way he used to when he came to Roy's office after a particularly destructive mission. "It's okay."</p><p>"Brother . . ." Al warned.</p><p>Ed scowled.</p><p>He <em>actually </em>scowled.</p><p>Roy almost couldn't help the grin that tried to tear across his face in response. How long had it been since he had seen that expression on Ed's face? Something other than passive agitation and blatant terror . . . it was so normal, so very <em>Ed</em> that Roy almost wanted to laugh.</p><p>"It's disorienting," Ed said, voice dark and just a bit petulant that his brother was putting him on the spot. "I get dizzy and disoriented and have flashbacks, so then I sit on the ground and cry like a baby until Al comes to get me. That better?"</p><p>That wiped the grin from Roy's face . . . but still, Ed hiding things like that, that he was getting angry and defensive, that was a good sign, wasn't it? It was more Ed-like, so it had to be some kind of improvement.</p><p>"Ah, well, that's to be expected," Silas said, as if Ed had just stated the sun rose from the east. "The disorientation will go away with time, but I brought you something that should help a bit with moving." He reached beside him and picked up a long, thin cane, then gently took Ed's hand and placed the instrument in his grip.</p><p>Ed frowned, accepting the wooden device. He placed it in his lap and ran his hand up and down its polished surface. "A . . . stick?" he asked, sounding unimpressed.</p><p>"It's a walking stick!" Silas exclaimed with what Roy thought was an undue amount of enthusiasm.</p><p>Ed's expression darkened considerably. "I don't want it."</p><p>"Brother—"</p><p>"No," Ed growled, holding the cane out for Silas to take back. "I'm not using that."</p><p>Roy frowned. "What's wrong with it, Fullmetal? It'll keep you from breaking your neck."</p><p>Ed jumped as if he had forgotten Roy was there entirely. That only served to annoy him further, though. "It's bad enough not being able to see without also having to <em>look</em> like an invalid," he muttered, and when no one took the cane from him, he threw it on the ground.</p><p>Apparently, he hadn't been expecting the subsequent clatter.</p><p>He jumped a mile, eyes widening in terror as he jerked away from the noise like a gunshot. He pressed his body against the wall and went deathly still, hand wrapped around his throat.</p><p>No one breathed.</p><p>"Ed?" Al finally whispered.</p><p>Just the sound of his brother's voice was enough to snap him out of whatever flashback had begun to play in his head. He frowned for a second in confusion, then realization seemed to dawn on him. His face suddenly twisted into a snarl and he struck out at the wall with an automail foot and a curse, leaving a dent in the plaster. <em>"This is so </em>STUPID!" he hissed, kicking the wall again for good measure.</p><p>Silas turned to give Roy a pointed look, as if <em>he</em> somehow knew what to do.</p><p>Roy stepped forward. "Fullmetal," he said gently.</p><p>Ed stopped his unceremonious destruction of the wall and crossed his legs in front of him, head hanging low and frustration written plain as day on his face. "Are we done, Doctor?" he asked, voice suddenly reserved as his sightless eyes stared at his lap.</p><p>Silas smiled, but it wasn't nearly as chipper as it had been before. "Yeah, we're done. Your brother here mentioned your automail mechanic would come to see about repairing your arm and leg?"</p><p>Ed's face tightened, but he didn't otherwise respond.</p><p>"She can't make it to Central for another two weeks," Al said, cautious eyes on Ed. Roy felt like he was missing something, but didn't ask. He found it odd that it would take the girl so long, especially if she knew the circumstances. Which probably meant Ed hadn't allowed Alphonse to tell her the circumstances.</p><p>Silas didn't ask, either. "I had your therapy scheduled starting next week, but since you'll need some working limbs, we can either get you fitted with some temporary ones—"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"—or we can just move the appointment back," Silas continued with a wry smile. "I'll don't have the appointments set up for your psychiatrist yet, but once I get those done, I'll pass the info along to Roy."</p><p>"You're wasting your time," Ed growled. "I told you before, I'm not seeing some shrink."</p><p>Silas' smile widened knowingly. "Well, it'll at least give you the option, in case you change your mind. I'll go ahead and get out of your hair, then." He picked up his bag and made for the door. "I'll see myself out!" he called cheerily before leaving the room and shutting the door firmly behind him, his loud whistling fading down the hall.</p><p>Al watched his brother stare at his lap. Roy looked back and forth between them.</p><p>The silence was terribly uncomfortable.</p><p>He cleared his throat, making Ed jump. "Well," he said slowly, "Didn't you want to go to the library, Alphonse?"</p><p>Ed's breathing hitched and his body stiffened.</p><p>Al's soul-fire eyes locked on Ed. "Well, I don't think that—"</p><p>"Just go, Al," Ed said, the last traces of the earlier fire gone from his voice and leaving something weak and husky in its place.</p><p>Al sighed—a strange noise, coming from a suit of armor— and slowly headed for the door. "I won't be gone long, okay? Promise."</p><p>"Take your time," Ed said. Roy knew he didn't mean it.</p><p>Al opened the door and turned to give Roy a hard stare. <em>Take care of him.</em></p><p>Roy nodded.</p><p>Al closed the door, once again enveloping the room in silence.</p><p>Roy stared at Ed, his mind spinning as he tried to find a way to bring up the topic that he would give anything to avoid. How was he supposed to tell him? Was there a gentle way to say it? He should have brought Hawkeye . . . she always knew what to say—</p><p>Ed moved, jarring Roy from his thoughts, and he focused on the boy again. His eyes had gone wide and Roy noticed the faint trembling of his hand and the way his breathing suddenly accelerated. He reached out blindly, groping around the bed for something.</p><p>"Ed?" Roy asked softly.</p><p>Ed flinched, but didn't stop his search. "I . . . I need . . ."</p><p>Roy stepped forward and, almost without thinking, put his wrist in Ed's path.</p><p>His eyes widened in surprise, but he immediately latched on to it, fingers tightening around Roy's arm. He took a slow, shuddering breath, eyes falling shut. "Where's the blanket?" he whispered after a moment.</p><p>Roy glanced around and spotted it partially shoved under the bed. Careful not to break contact, he picked it up with his other hand and placed it on Ed's lap.</p><p>Ed held on a moment longer, staring intently as if waging some kind of internal battle, then slowly let go of Roy's wrist. Roy watched as he struggled with one hand to wrap the blanket around himself, then unfolded his body and slid from the bed to the floor, sliding across the ground until he had his back pressed to the wall. He settled there, still holding his eyes closed, and looked like he was trying very hard to control his breathing.</p><p>Roy wished desperately he knew what to say. He wished he was good with words, the way Hughes had been. He wished he could just whisper something and banish Ed's fear entirely.</p><p>Instead, he had come to bring more bad news down on the child's head.</p><p>Maybe this wasn't a good time . . .</p><p>"Are you alright?" Roy finally asked from his awkward position standing in the middle of the dorm.</p><p>A small, humorless smile twitched at Ed's lips. "That's a stupid question, Mustang."</p><p>"I guess it is," Roy smirked, but the expression he usually wore so easily was now weighted, heavy on his lips. "What was that about?"</p><p>The smile vanished from Ed's face. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."</p><p>"That's a stupid answer, Fullmetal," Roy countered. He stepped up to the wall and put his back to it, sliding down to sit on the floor next to Ed with a tired sigh. He sat close enough to let their shoulders touch, a simple, supportive contact. During his stay at the hospital, the boy had often sought out the touch of himself, Alphonse, Havoc and Hawkeye. Ed never explained why, but Roy suspected it had to do with making sure someone was actually there, that it wasn't some kind of hallucination. Or maybe in some way it was like looking someone in the eyes when he could no longer see.</p><p>Ed stiffened at the touch, but didn't otherwise respond.</p><p>Roy took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any. "I have something I need to talk to you about."</p><p>Ed let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. "Sounds bad."</p><p>"It's . . . not good."</p><p>Give him a superior officer, a politician or a woman and Roy could talk them in circles. With a few well-placed words, Roy could get a crowd to laugh or cry.</p><p>Give him a broken child and Roy could barely string together a sentence.</p><p>"Not good?" Ed asked, the shattered smile spreading across his face, as sharp and painful as broken glass. "Well, whatever it is, I can promise you I've heard worse."</p><p>
  <em>Not much worse . . .</em>
</p><p>"It's about . . . well, I don't know how to tell you, to be honest," Roy said, staring at his booted feet and Ed's own mismatched pair in front of them. The automail foot glinted brightly in the fading light from the window.</p><p>"Just spit it out, Mustang."</p><p>Roy took another deep breath and told him.</p><p>Ed didn't say anything.</p><p>And Roy tried to pretend he didn't see Ed's tears even as he wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders and pulled him close.</p><p>They stayed like that for a long time. They stayed like that until the sun outside had finally dipped below the horizon, plunging the room into deep shadows and hushed silence. They stayed that way until Ed's breaths evened out and he finally quieted. Outside, the security gas lamps flickered on, sending in a stream of golden light to paint the desk and the floor on the other side of the room.</p><p>Beside him, Ed heaved a shuddering sigh.</p><p>"There's nothing left, then, is there?" Ed whispered into Roy's shoulder. "This is it."</p><p>The word "devastation" didn't do the tone justice, but Roy could think of nothing else to describe the voice emanating from the young alchemist. "No," he said, his own voice hushed. "Of course not."</p><p>Ed's hand suddenly clenched, bunching Roy's uniform jacket in a tight fist. "Don't patronize me, Mustang. Please, not now."</p><p>Roy blinked. Did he really think Roy was that heartless? To actually belittle him at a time like this?! "Ed, I'm not patronizing you. I'm serious. It's not over. It's not over until you and Al have your bodies back."</p><p>Again, that humorless laugh. Roy almost preferred the devastation over that self-depreciating mockery. "Then you're an idiot. And so am I. I'm an idiot for thinking I could raise the dead and for dragging Al into it with me. And I'm an idiot for thinking I could somehow get out of paying the price for it." He put his shaky hand to his face, covering his eyes as if he could somehow hide them from himself. "I guess this is the price for even trying to skirt the laws of Equivalency."</p><p>Maybe it was the fact that Ed sounded like he had already given up, that he had been beaten by this. Maybe it was because Ed was the strongest person Roy knew, and to hear things like that coming from him . . . it shook Roy to the core.</p><p>Either way, Roy Mustang's temper burned.</p><p>"You listen to me, Ed," he hissed, his voice suddenly as searing as his alchemy. Ed went ridged beside him, but Roy only tightened his hold on the boy. "<em>Listen</em> to me. You're hurt, and Al's not here, so I guess you're just not thinking straight, but I will <em>not</em> allow you to continue down that train of thought, do you understand me?"</p><p>Ed tried to pull away, but Roy's grip wouldn't allow it. "Stop that," he ordered, and Ed's struggling ceased. "Do you hear me, Ed? I <em>order</em> you not to give up. You're going to beat this. I don't know how, I don't know when, but you're going to get through this somehow. And when you do, you're going to pick up right where you left off and someday, you're going to get your bodies back. I will not allow you to just <em>give up</em>. Do you understand me, Fullmetal?"</p><p>Ed didn't answer.</p><p>"I just gave you an order!"</p><p>"Sir," Ed managed to squeak, voice small and surprised.</p><p>Roy couldn't quite keep the smile off of his face as he rested his chin on the blond head. "That's better."</p><p>Because, Roy supposed, even the strongest people couldn't be strong all the time. Sometimes you just needed someone else to be your strength for a little while.</p><p>The ensuing silence wasn't so pervasive anymore. At least for Roy, there was a bit of peace to it, a resolve that permeated the night air.</p><p>A hope that maybe, somehow, this could turn out alright.</p><p>"Mustang?" Ed asked.</p><p>"Hmm?"</p><p>"You're a jerk."</p><p>Roy huffed a quiet laugh. Never again would he take those insults for granted, or the hidden messages behind them; the one's Ed could rarely voice but always held the most weight.</p><p>
  <em>Thanks.</em>
</p><p>And after what Roy had done . . . after all he had put the boy through, this was the least he could do for him. He had complete confidence that, child or not, if anyone could pull through this, it was Ed. Even if he needed some help along the way.</p><p>"Brat."</p><p>
  <em>You're welcome.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy propped his elbow on his desk and cradled his head in his hand, trying to massage away the headache growing behind his left eye.</p><p>He was just about at his wit's end and still had no idea what he was going to do.</p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>He glanced up between a veil of fingers to see Hawkeye standing at the door, a stack of paperwork tucked under one arm. He suppressed a groan as she walked in and deposited the load on his desk.</p><p>"For me? You shouldn't have," he said with a weary sigh, sliding it over to add to the pile of work he'd accurately labeled 'Things That Will Never Get Done in His Lifetime.'</p><p>She didn't dignify that with a response. "You seem especially unproductive today, sir," she commented with thinly veiled displeasure, eyes drifting to the aforementioned pile. Three months ago it had only taken up a small corner of his desk, but as of late, it had grown, slowly eating away at his work area like spreading mold, growing and mutating into an unconquerable beast.</p><p>If he were being honest, he preferred mold.</p><p>"I don't know what I'm going to do with those boys, Hawkeye," he muttered, closing his eyes. "They have to be out of the dorms by tomorrow, but where else can they go? They need people to look out for them, so they need to be here in Central or back in Resembool. I could send them home, but they don't have the health professionals Ed needs right now."</p><p>"Even if he has no intentions of seeing any more?" the Lieutenant asked with a wry smile.</p><p>Roy scowled. "He's going to see one whether he likes it or not. But for that, he needs to be here in Central. They can't get an apartment or a house. The only reason I let them stay in the dorms was because Feury and Fallman were right down the hall."</p><p>"Then I guess you have no choice," she commented, turning to leave. "They'll just have to stay with you."</p><p>Roy blanched.</p><p>She walked out the door.</p><p>"Wait a minute!" he called, scrambling from his desk and stalking to the front office. "I can't do that!"</p><p>His whole team looked up at him with various expressions of surprise. Hawkeye ignored him and took her seat at her desk.</p><p>"Can't do what?" Havoc asked, kicking back in his chair, willing to take any excuse to not do his work.</p><p>"I can't take those boys in my house!" Roy protested, crossing his arms to give Hawkeye a challenging look. Since she was practically ignoring him, though, he turned his attention to the rest of his crew. "She thinks I can just take them in!"</p><p>Havoc and Breda frowned. Fallman looked contemplative, and Feury just looked like he'd rather not have this conversation.</p><p>Breda leaned over his desk to prop his head on his hands. "If you don't mind my asking, sir, why not?"</p><p>Roy's eyes widened. Why not?! Did no one else see the imminent disaster in that plan? "Because! Because they're . . . and I'm . . . I can't. . ."</p><p>"What he's trying to say," Hawkeye said absently, frowning at a document she was currently perusing, "is that he doesn't have a good reason."</p><p>"Don't put words in my mouth, Lieutenant!" he huffed, hands clenching. And she was <em>still</em> ignoring him! Fine, then. He turned back to the men around him. Surely they would understand. "Edward hates me on the best of days. And he's a complete brat. We'll probably kill one another by the end of the week!"</p><p>Havoc gave him a bored look, picking up an unlit, half-chewed cigarette from his desk and placing it between his lips. "That's your reason?"</p><p>Roy blinked. "What more reason do I need? He's not even my responsibility anymore!" he said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. What a cruel, heartless thing to say. As if he weren't directly responsible for Ed being in the military. As if he didn't send the boy on a mission far too close to Drachma for a boy's safety. As if he weren't indirectly responsible for Ed's state. "I can't," he insisted, voice a bit weaker this time. He forced some steel into it. "I just can't!"</p><p>"Well, sir," Feury mumbled shyly from around his radio, "if they didn't stay with you, where else could they go?"</p><p>"I don't know!" he said, now completely exasperated. Feury visibly cowered from his obvious frustration, but Roy didn't bother to soften his tone. "That's why I put my team on it, but so far you've turned up less than nothing!"</p><p>Havoc and Breda looked completely unabashed. Hawkeye and Falman had returned to their paperwork. Feury looked like he was trying to sink under his desk.</p><p>A load of help <em>they</em> were.</p><p>"Well, since there's obviously no other option," Havoc said around his cancer stick, "Maybe you should just take them in until you can figure something else out."</p><p>Roy's jaw worked up and down for a moment. "But I can't—"</p><p>"Yeah, it's not like they have to stay with you forever, right?" Breda asked, smiling wryly. "Just until Ed gets back on his feet, so to speak. Then they'll be out of your hair."</p><p>"But Ed will—"</p><p>"Alphonse will make sure Ed doesn't kill you," Havoc supplied helpfully.</p><p>"Sir. Just for a little while," Hawkeye said, finally looking up at him with a soft smile.</p><p>Roy looked around the room. They all exchanged knowing looks.</p><p>"You knew this from the beginning. You knew this would happen," he said accusingly, feeling somewhat miffed and a bit betrayed.</p><p>Hawkeye turned back to her paperwork and told him, "Of course, sir. It was inevitable."</p><p>He scowled. He hated how they could always see things he couldn't.</p><p>But maybe that's why he put them on his team. Someone had to cover his blind spots. And where the Elrics were concerned, Roy had plenty of those.</p><p>With a scowl and a defeated sigh, Roy spun on his heel and marched back into his office, slamming the door shut.</p><p>If he was going to move the Elrics into his home tomorrow, he had some preparations to make.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Al sighed in exasperation. "Are you honestly going to argue about this?" he asked, gathering the small stack of clothing from the dresser and neatly packing it in their suitcase.</p><p>Ed scowled from his seat on the ground against the wall, his preferred spot next to being at Al's side. "I don't want to be in that Idiot Colonel's house. We don't need his help."</p><p>This had been Ed's excuse ever since Al had proposed it. He claimed it was because it was completely unnecessary and the Colonel was a pain, but Al knew there was more to it than that.</p><p>Before the whole incident, Ed used to be very easy going. He didn't mind dropping the day's plans to go sit in the park and read, or following Al to the market to window shop, if Al could drag him from the library. He wasn't dependent on anyone's schedule but his own, and was very flexible with it.</p><p>Now, though, all that had changed. He had no perception of night or day or the passage of time, so he relied heavily on Alphonse telling him when he was supposed to do things, like eat and shower and dress, and he had become almost addicted to the routine and order. Though he tried to hide it, Al noticed that any minor change caused him an undue amount of stress, so Alphonse did his best to eliminate any and all surprises that he could.</p><p>In the wake of his discharge, though, all predictability was on the verge of being torn apart. Since Ed had found out he would have to leave the dorm, he was becoming more and more anxious, fear of not knowing where they would be in three days slowly eating away at him. Alphonse hated that. After all the uncertainty and the fear of being blind and what lead to it, now he had this to go through.</p><p>They had discussed renting an apartment on the cheaper side of town, now that their income had been reduced to almost nothing, but that terrified Al. Sure they needed some more time to figure out what they were going to do now and to tie up some lose ends in Central (and, though Ed denied it, more medical treatment) but that side of town was dangerous, and with Ed in his current state, Al wasn't sure it was a good idea. He would never want to leave his brother alone for more than a moment, and he didn't trust himself to do all of the right things.</p><p>They had been taking care of each other for years, in their own way, but Ed was the protector. He was the strong one, the one that made the big decisions and spurred them forward. No matter how discouraging the world became or how bleak the future looked, he was the burning beacon, the light that lead them on.</p><p>But things were different now. Ed was different now. For the third time, Al felt like their world had been ripped apart.</p><p>And, if he were truly being honest with himself, he wasn't sure if they would make it this time.</p><p>He felt out of his league, drowning under the flood of responsibilities he wasn't equipped to handle. He had no idea what he was doing, and he was scared.</p><p>So when the Colonel called the day before with the proposition to have them stay with him for a while, Alphonse didn't even bother consulting with Ed. He jumped at the opportunity, eagerly and wholeheartedly, almost melting with relief. Just the thought of a capable adult taking charge took a load off his shoulders. It meant he didn't have to take care of Ed by himself.</p><p>It meant that Ed wouldn't have to be alone when Al left to find a way to heal him.</p><p>"Brother, it's cheaper than getting an apartment," Alphonse pointed out, clearing out the last drawer and moving on to the book shelf. "We don't have a lot of money at our disposal right now."</p><p>"I have my <em>disability</em> pension." Ed spat 'disability' as if it were the vilest word ever conceived. "It should cover rent on the other side of town, as cheap as those dumps are. And besides, I have plenty of money stashed away," he insisted, hugging the blanket tighter around himself. To most people it would look like he was just cold, but Al knew his brother and the mannerisms he had begun developing lately. He did that when he was feeling particularly uncomfortable or scared, as if it were some kind of shield instead of a swath of fabric. Something about going to the Colonel's house was really bothering him.</p><p>"A lot of that is going to pay off your hospital stay, and we'll need even more to cover your therapy and the psychiatrist—"</p><p>"Which I will <em>not</em> be seeing. There. Money saved."</p><p>"—and besides, we could really use the help right now."</p><p>Al knew his brother almost better than he knew himself. Ed was prideful, almost to a fault. He didn't accept charity or help that he felt like he hadn't earned somehow, believing it violated the laws of Equivalent Exchange. That he was about to be indebted to a man he had butted heads with and competed against for years was something that would be hard for his pride to swallow. Even harder for him would be for him to show his obvious weakness and need to someone he admired and looked up to.</p><p>Though he would never admit that part aloud, of course.</p><p>But if Ed was prideful, he was every ounce just as selfless when it came to Alphonse, and though Al felt ashamed to use it against his brother, he would if it meant Ed would be better off. "Besides, I would feel better if we stayed with someone we knew." He said it quietly, almost afraid Ed would still refuse.</p><p>Ed didn't say anything. Al finally chanced a glance at him to see his eyes closed, mouth flat in a tight line. "Alright, fine," he muttered. "We can stay at the stupid Colonel's house, but just for a little while."</p><p>It was the best Al could hope for, and he was grateful Ed would allow it at all. "Thank you, Brother."</p><p>Ed grunted, sinking deeper into his blanket.</p><p>Al wished this wasn't so stressful for him.</p><p>"The Colonel will be here in a minute," Al said, glancing at the alarm clock before adding it to the depressingly sparse suitcase. That was the last of it.</p><p>Ed made no response.</p><p>A quiet rap on the door made his brother gasp, blind eyes widening. His hand clutched his throat.</p><p>Al recognized his flash backs easily now, usually following a sudden sound, the bark of a dog on the grounds outside, or immediately upon wakening. Sometimes all it took was a gentle voice to wake him from it, but sometimes Al had to wait for it to pass on its own, doing all in his power to keep Ed from hurting himself. "Brother, it's okay. It's just the door," he explained softly. He carefully walked beside him, and when he didn't snap out of it, Al placed a gentle gauntlet on his shoulder.</p><p>Ed hissed, flinching away from his touch as if he'd been burned. Without his other arm to catch himself, though, he fell back against the floor. He curled up on himself with a pathetic whimper, completely hidden under the blanket except for several stray strands of golden hair.</p><p>No matter how many times Ed quailed from his touch, no matter how often Al told himself it wasn't on purpose, Al felt his soul shatter for the millionth time.</p><p>The door clicked open, gliding slowly agape to reveal Colonel Mustang, dark eyes narrowed in apprehension. "Alphonse?" he asked, unable to see Ed from his vantage point.</p><p>Al was about to reply when Ed gasped, no longer hyperventilating, but breathing hard as if waking from a nightmare. "Al?" he asked, voice small and scared. "Alphonse?"</p><p>"Brother, I'm here," he said softly, kneeling at his brother's side and touching his shoulder again.</p><p>This time Ed didn't cower away, but leaned into the touch, his only hand sliding out from under the blanket to wrap around Al's large fingers. "Sorry," he apologized breathlessly, face still hidden under his blanket.</p><p>The Colonel came around the corner, concern shining in those onyx eyes. "Everything alright?"</p><p>Ed flinched, but Al gently uncovered him, finally bringing his pallid face into view. "We're okay, Colonel," Al assured him, lifting his other hand to carefully wipe Ed's bangs from his sweat-soaked forehead.</p><p>Ed gazed up at the space to the right of Al's head, making Al's nonexistent heart tighten. He missed his brother's eyes, their molten gold depths once so sharp and expressive, now flat and milky and swimming with demons.</p><p>The Colonel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, are you boys ready?"</p><p>"Yes, Colonel," Al murmured, gathering Ed inside his blanket and lifting him his arms like a drowned cat.</p><p>Ed made a sound of protest, the frown flitting across his face making Alphonse's soul smile with relief. "I can walk by myself!" he objected, voice still thin but more like himself.</p><p>Al knew that, and he knew Ed would be happier if he could, but Al doubted he would make it very far. Since his rescue, Ed had never been out of the hospital and the dorm while conscious, and though he could usually walk around alright in the tight space of the dorm, Al was afraid he would fall on his malfunctioning automail, or something would scare him badly enough that he would hurt himself or some innocent bystander.</p><p>No, he felt a lot better with his brother in his arms, regardless of how Ed's pride felt about it. That didn't mean he could be insensitive about it, though. "It's okay, Ed. I don't want you to strain yourself. You haven't even started therapy yet."</p><p>Mustang nodded at Al approvingly. "You need to take it easy, Ed," he agreed. As if Ed would be amiable about it just because the Colonel liked it.</p><p>Ed scowled. "I'm not going to wear myself out walking to the parking lot!" he insisted, but that's as far as he pressed as the Colonel picked up their suitcase and they left the dorm. Ed must have had his own reservations about walking, or he would have been shrieking all the way out to the car.</p><p>But that was the Ed over three months ago. Not the timid, trembling shadow of a brother Alphonse now held in his arms.</p><p>Thankfully there was no one in the corridor as Al and Mustang made their way through the building. Ed's breathing accelerated steadily the longer they walked, making Mustang throw concerned glances his way.</p><p>"What's wrong, Fullmetal?" the Colonel finally asked.</p><p>Ed seemed to relax a bit in Al's arms, his hand loosening its tight hold on the blanket just a bit. "Nothing," he responded, his voice relieved, as if just the sound of a voice reassured him that everything was alright.</p><p>Al had noticed that; sometimes Ed asked for Al to just talk or hum, usually when it was especially quiet or he couldn't sleep. Ed had told him that it made him feel connected and kept his mind from drifting to the past. He didn't have to specify what that past was.</p><p>So Al struck up a conversation. "How did you talk the Lieutenant into letting you take off work early today?" he asked Mustang, keeping his tone light and nonchalant.</p><p>Mustang smirked. "I didn't. I sent her to deliver an inquiry four floors up, then ran for it."</p><p>Al giggled a bit, and was pleased to see that Ed's lip quirked in response. "Figures," Ed muttered. "You're just inviting us in so you can slack off."</p><p>"And so far, it's working perfectly," Mustang assured them, opening the door wide for Alphonse to slip past.</p><p>A rush of winter air swept in. Ed went rigid like a deer caught in the headlights, jaw slack and eyes wide. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.</p><p>Al's phantom heart jumped to his throat.</p><p>"ED!" Alphonse shouted, staring in terror at the lifeless body of his brother in his arms.</p><p>Mustang was immediately by their side, sliding a gloved hand under Ed's jaw for a pulse. "He's alright, Alphonse," Mustang assured him, his voice tight. "He just fainted."</p><p>"But . . . why would he faint?" he demanded, his own voice trembling with emotion. If he had possessed a body, he doubted he would still be standing.</p><p>Roy shook his head. "Sometimes with posttraumatic stress disorder, some sensations remind you so much of the incident that the only way the mind can protect itself is to shut down." There was something odd about the way he said it, as if reciting a textbook he had read a dozen times. "It was cold up north."</p><p>Al gazed down at his brother, feeling overwhelmed and lost. How was he supposed to help Ed fight this when it was a war for his mind?</p><p>"Come on, Al," Mustang encouraged, some warmth and concern seeping back into his voice. "Let's get moving before he wakes up." With a tenderness Al had only seen him exhibit with Ed in the hospital over a week ago, the older man pulled the blanket tighter around Ed, covering everything but his face. Then he opened the door and Al followed him out into the winter day to his car.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed frowned, glaring down at the object in his hand, as if trying to stare past the blindness. He could sense it right there, the smooth leather of the cover, the barely discernible texture of writing on slick pages, the comforting scent of paper and ink and dust. He could hear the pages flipping, feel the passage of air caress his face with every turn.</p><p>But no matter how long he held it in his hand, breathed its sent and heard its whispers, the knowledge contained within it remained locked away, just out of his reach.</p><p>And no matter how silly he knew it was, he couldn't help but feel his gut twist with betrayal and icy rejection.</p><p>Books had been his oldest friends, ever since he was old enough to hold the picture ones his mother used to read to him. They were gateways to secrets and ideas of the past and present, to knowledge and power and answers to unasked questions. If Ed was ever unsure of something, he knew he could find answers within their pages.</p><p>But now, when he was more unsure than ever, they were silent. It hurt more than it should.</p><p>"Ed?"</p><p>Ed flinched as his brother's voice interrupted his thoughts. He shoved the book aside, listening to it glide across the wood of Mustang's kitchen table. Al had seen him have at least two flashback and faint, all in one day. He didn't need his brother to see him lose it over some stupid books, too. "What?"</p><p>As if to further Ed's point, Al asked hesitantly, "Are you okay?"</p><p>Would people ever stop asking him that? Wasn't it obvious? "Fine, Al."</p><p>He could almost hear Al's hesitancy as he went back to his book across the table. He could hear Mustang from the chair beside him go back to whatever work material he was reading through, too, once again leaving Ed alone with his thoughts. He wished he could see what Al was reading. He wished he could help.</p><p>Al had told Ed he was going to keep researching the Philosopher's Stone, so whenever Ed was ready, they could keep searching for it. But Alphonse was not a good liar. In fact, he was a very bad one, and Ed saw through it immediately. He knew he was looking for a cure, but just didn't want Ed to get his hopes up in case he didn't find anything.</p><p>Well, Ed had been keeping hope at bay with a twenty-foot pole these days. He knew a hopeless cause when he saw one.</p><p>Ha. Saw one.</p><p>Was it stupid that his heart twinged at such a pathetic joke?</p><p>"What time is it?" he asked, not liking the emptiness he heard in his own voice.</p><p>"It's late," Mustang's baritone supplied from the chair to Ed's left, only a couple of feet away. "It's about time to turn in."</p><p>Ed gritted his teeth. "I'll go to bed whenever I feel like it," he growled, pulling the blanket he loathed so much tighter around him. Like a two year old with a blanky. It was sickening, but sometimes it was the only thing he could comfort himself with when he started drifting, like an anchor to reality. There were no blankets in that basement, and he could sometimes tell if he was awake or not by its softness pulled tightly around him. He was pushing his luck by actually sitting in a chair, something so unstable with so much air around it. He didn't think he'd be able to keep his mind in the present without the familiar fabric over his shoulders.</p><p>He could almost see Mustang throwing up his hands in exasperation. Good. Served him right, trying to boss him around like he was his father or something. "Fine," he relented. Ed could hear the rustle of movement and feel the table jolt as the Colonel stood up. "I'm going to go lay out some towels and check the guest bedroom."</p><p>"Do you need some help?" Al asked.</p><p>"Nah. You can help Ed with a shower while I fix things up, if he wants."</p><p>Ed felt his cheeks burn and ducked his head. "Shut up. I can take my own shower."</p><p>That was a lie. Ed had to have Alphonse right there on the other side of the curtain the whole time, lest he have a flashback to being sprayed with a water hose down in that freezing basement for the sake of 'keeping him clean.' He could hear their footsteps coming down the hallway outside, the slither of the hose dragging behind them.</p><p>The wolves shifted restlessly somewhere on the far side of the basement. He was pretty sure he broke one of their noses the day before, so they had stayed away from him today.</p><p>They weren't the problem right now, though.</p><p>There were at least two of them, as usual. He could hear their rough voices speaking in Drachman. The coarse language sent shivers down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The collar around his throat chafed painfully as he pressed himself into the corner, choking and trying not to breath at the same time.</p><p>The door swung open on heavy hinges and he squeezed his sightless eyes shut, making himself as small of a target as possible.</p><p>Wolves snarled cautiously, echoing his own feelings about their captors.</p><p>They stopped at the top of the stairs. One of the men said something that Ed just knew was some kind of cruel jib about him. The other brayed at his joke, then Ed heard the water hose flip on and the deafening rush of powerful liquid.</p><p>It hit like an icy whip, lashing across his bare skin and causing hot and cold agony at the same time. Though he tried to protect his face, the water found its way there, forcing its way up his nose and into his mouth, choking him. He coughed, trying to expel the fluid from his lungs, but when he gasped for air, he only found more water.</p><p>He was going to die this time. They weren't taking the water away, and he was going to drown.</p><p>Then, something was there, blocking the water with a hand. He clearly felt the weight of it on his shoulder, despite the pounding of the water.</p><p>Yeah, well, they were going to pay for that mistake.</p><p>He lashed out with his foot and a snarl. His flesh limb hit something solid and he heard a voice cry out before he was falling.</p><p>He knew that voice . . . didn't he?</p><p>He hit the floor hard, sharp pain making him gasp. At least he couldn't hear the water anymore. He shivered, skin rippling with gooseflesh in the wake of the freezing shower.</p><p>He was tangled in something, and couldn't move. Did they tie him up when he was so disoriented?</p><p>With another snarl, he jerked around, trying to wrestle himself lose with only one arm to work with.</p><p>"EDWARD ELRIC!"</p><p>He froze.</p><p>He wasn't tied up. It was his blanket. The man he had just kicked wasn't one of his tormentors, it was Mustang. The floor wasn't concrete, it was tile. He smelled kitchen spices and wood, not must and dog. He wasn't soaked. He had just had another flashback.</p><p>In front of Al. In front of Mustang. Another one.</p><p>All of the energy left him in a rush. He didn't even have it in him to wrestle the blanket away. What was the point? Mustang had already seen him flailing around like a lunatic and crying out and choking on nothing but his imagination. There was no way he could make a bigger fool of himself.</p><p>He just closed his eyes and put his forehead against the cool tile.</p><p>He was such an idiot.</p><p>"Ed?" Al's voice murmured carefully from seven feet above his head.</p><p>He might as well have been seven miles given how alone Ed felt now, isolated and trapped in the repeating nightmares of his head.</p><p>"I'm fine, Al," he said quietly. "I'm fine."</p><p>
  <em>I'm lost. I'm alone and I'm drowning in my own personal purgatory. </em>
</p><p>How was he supposed to get Al's body back like this? How was he supposed to do <em>anything</em> like <em>this?</em> It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't. Mustang could spout all of his "getting through this" crap that he wanted to, but it didn't change things. It didn't give him back his sight. It didn't give him back his mind. It was just a veil of false hope and empty promises, gossamer dreams to keep his fragile mind from going off the deep end.</p><p>It was far too late for that, though. He was already in the deep end and sinking fast.</p><p>Then he felt warm hands through the fabric around him, gently untangling his limbs. "If you were drop-dead tired, you should have said so," Mustang said lightly, pulling his arm from the blanket. "I could have made the guest bed hours ago." His voice was almost teasing, but the concern there was too warm, too pervasive for Ed to get upset or more embarrassed. "Alphonse, would you mind turning the covers down? We'll be there in a minute."</p><p>"Sure," Al said uncertainly, as if wanting Ed's permission before leaving. Ed didn't move, though, so he walked off, his footsteps clanking out of the kitchen, through the living area and up the stairs.</p><p>Mustang finally got his automail leg untangled, pulling the blanket out of a gear jutting from the lose paneling. "Stop it," he said.</p><p>Ed frowned. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything."</p><p>"For a second there, you gave up. So stop it." Mustang's hand slipped into his, warm and strong and safe. With minimal effort, he hoisted Ed to his feet.</p><p>Ed swayed, disoriented and head spinning with the sudden motion, but Mustang was right there, that same steadying hand under his arm and guiding him forward.</p><p>"We already talked about this," Mustang continued. "You have your orders. I expect you to obey them." His tone left little room for argument, but Ed was gifted in such areas.</p><p>"I'm not military anymore. You can't boss me around. Jerk," he growled, but even to himself his voice sounded lifeless.</p><p>He couldn't help but wonder if Mustang meant what he had said. If he truly believed there was a way through this, a way that didn't end with Ed locked away in a padded cell or dying of loneliness or insanity.</p><p>Ed wasn't sure, though.</p><p>In some ways, Mustang reminded him of Hoenheim. He was strong, smart, reassuring. When he stepped into a room, people looked, drawn to the quiet power he possessed.</p><p>When Ed was little, he believed that his father could do no wrong, that he would be there until the very end, guiding and protecting him, Al and his mother like a father should. He was infallible, invincible, immovable, the gentle leader and the strong protector, the safe haven in an unforgiving world.</p><p>But his Father taught him the most important lesson he had ever learned about humanity; people let you down.</p><p>And if he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he was afraid Mustang would, too.</p><p>But despite that, despite how he warned himself against it, he still hoped.</p><p>Mustang was here, guiding and protecting, offering his support as if Ed wasn't an inconvenience at all. Not at all like a commanding officer, but almost as a father might. He felt safe when Mustang was near, like no matter how bad things got, he would still be there, the rock in the storm.</p><p>But Ed saw his father's back, turning, disappearing out the door and he could see Mustang following him out.</p><p>It was foolish to hope, but his heart wanted it all the same.</p><p>Pathetic.</p><p>"Don't care," Mustang said, guiding him forward though his house. Ed knew his way around the floor ground relatively well from former visits, but that didn't seem to factor in. Mustang guided him past the tile to the carpeted living area.</p><p>"That's not an argument," Ed pointed out, wincing when his real leg grazed what Ed remembered was the coffee table, but Mustang didn't let him fall.</p><p>"Take it as an order from a superior being."</p><p>"Ha. Superiorly stupid."</p><p>"That's very witty, Fullmetal," Mustang said, pulling him to the left and up the stairs. "Did you get that from a book?"</p><p>Ed snorted even as he mentally counted the stairs. "Why? Is that where you go for your come backs?" Thirteen steps.</p><p>Mustang pulled him to the right. In the times Ed had visited his house, he had never gone upstairs. He was regretting that now, and his footsteps became uncertain, but Mustang's grip on his arm tightened and as if reading his mind, he launched into an explanation. "Straight hall ahead, about twenty paces. We're passing the first door on your left. That's the first guest room. The door after that is a linen closet. Across from that is the bathroom. Next door to that is my room. Across from that is the guest bedroom you'll be in. It's bigger than the first."</p><p>And closer so I can hear you if something goes wrong, he didn't have to add.</p><p>"Close to your room. So I can listen to you snore all night long," Ed muttered.</p><p>"I don't snore," Mustang sniffed.</p><p>"Why don't you ask anyone who's ever stumbled into your office around two o'clock?"</p><p>"Why don't you shut your mouth and go to bed already? Insufferable brat," Mustang growled, but there was no heat to it. He picked up Ed's arm, holding it out so he could feel the doorframe. He could hear Alphonse inside, the armor creaking as he moved to the door. "Here's your room. The bed is straight ahead, the night stand is right next to it on your left. To your right is a dresser, but I see that Alphonse already has your suitcase unpacked into it."</p><p>"I hope that's okay . . ." Al said, as polite as ever.</p><p>"It's fine, Alphonse," Mustang said gently with a smile in his voice. "Just make yourselves at home. I'll be up at five, so I'll have some breakfast made for you then, if you want it. See you boys tomorrow."</p><p>Ed reached out and found Al's sturdy armor right in front of him. He latched onto it and Mustang let him go. He heard the door click shut behind him, then the whisper of Mustang's footsteps as he crossed the hallway into his own room.</p><p>But despite his physical absence, his quiet strength remained, reassuring Ed even though he was out of reach; reminding him of his orders, of the faith he promised he had in him.</p><p>And Ed hoped Mustang was right.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy dragged himself down the stairs, rubbing his eyes blearily. There was only one coherent thought echoing through his mind at the moment: <em>coffee</em>.</p><p>The night had been long. He hadn't slept well, and was awakened twice by Ed's screams during the night. Both times he had rushed to the boy's room to find him curled up in Alphonse's arms and whimpering.</p><p>He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the boy's voice so twisted and distorted by fear and pain. He decided that it wasn't something he wanted to hear again, though he would probably be hearing it often now . . .</p><p>He shoved those thoughts aside. It was too early for that. Coffee. Coffee first, thoughts later.</p><p>He was surprised to find the lights on in the kitchen, and even more surprised to find Alphonse at the table where he had been last night, books spread out and stacked haphazardly around him, stuffed with loose notes and bookmarks and pencils. He was scribbling furiously in a notebook, his gauntlets a flurry of motion as he wrote.</p><p>He didn't seem to notice Roy as he slipped beside him, peering over the suit's massive shoulders to get a look at what had him so driven at five in the morning. Roy had never seen Alphonse's handwriting and had always thought it would be rather distorted by his enormous hands, but that wasn't the case at all. His writing was neat, and though a bit large, it was drawn in an elegant, gentle script that somehow reflected his personality.</p><p>"Chi?" Roy asked, murmuring one of the words that had come up four times in the first six sentences.</p><p>Alphonse jumped, the pencil etching a jagged line across the page from his startled hand. "Colonel! Did I wake you up? I'm sorry! I was just trying to—"</p><p>Roy waved a dismissive hand, cutting off Al's babbling. "No, I was just going to cook some breakfast before I headed for work."</p><p>Alphonse's soul fire eyes glanced at the clock on the wall. "Five in the morning? Already?"</p><p>"Almost six," Roy corrected, shifting past him and making his way for the coffee pot. "How long have you been down here?"</p><p>Alphonse glanced back at his notes. "A while, I guess. Ed hadn't woken up in a while, and while I was sitting with him, I remembered something I read last night and had a thought I wanted to look into. Something about chi. Apparently there's a way to combine alchemy with this 'chi' and use it for healing." His voice was gaining momentum, babbling excitedly in a way that reminded Roy of Ed when he had some kind of breakthrough. The boys had their differences, but they were very much alike when it came to research. "I can't find any mention of it being practiced in Amestris, but it seems to originate in Xing. There's just not enough information about it for me to work with. I thought I'd gone through every medicinal book in the State Library, but this is something I've never heard before. Maybe if I can get back in there, I can find more about it," he hinted, turning hopeful eyes to Roy.</p><p>There was no way on earth Roy would deny him that. "I'll have Miss Scheska go through and check out every book there is on chi for you."</p><p>Al looked completely ecstatic. "Thank you so much, Colonel!"</p><p>Roy smiled and picked up his first cup of coffee. "I can at least manage that much." Alphonse turned back to his books and scribbled a few points on a napkin as Roy watched him. He sipped his drink, letting the rich aroma and the liquid's chemical properties force his mind into some semblance of wakefulness as he took the opportunity to study the boy. He found nothing incredibly enlightening from the cold visage of the armor, though. "How are you holding up?" he asked after a few moments of silence.</p><p>Al glanced up as if surprised to be asked such a question. "Me? I'm fine . . . Ed's the one—"</p><p>Roy shook his head. "I didn't ask about Ed. This is taking its toll on you, too. It's okay to admit it."</p><p>Again, despite the limited expression of the helmet, Alphonse managed to look surprised. Roy wondered with a stab of guilt when the last time was that Alphonse had been treated like a child and not like a hulking suit of armor. It was so hard to remember that Alphonse was only fourteen. He was just a kid, even younger and more sensitive than his brother. It was obviously hard on him to see the one person he relied on so heavily be so broken.</p><p>"I'm fine . . ."</p><p>Roy arched an eyebrow.</p><p>Al looked down at his hands. "Well, I mean . . . I just hate seeing Ed this way . . . He's so scared, and he's never been scared, you know?" His voice was quiet, reflective. "But he hates it so much, and he's trying so hard to protect me from it that he tries to hide everything, but I can still see it. I know it kills him to rely on other people so much. He's so frustrated with himself and everything, and I don't know what to do to help."</p><p>"I think you're doing everything you can, Alphonse," Roy assured him, pulling out a chair beside him at the table and dropping into it. "He's not going to improve overnight."</p><p>"I know, but he won't even talk to me!" Al said, the frustration in his voice laced with a strange sort of desperation. "I've tried asking him what happened up in Drachma, but whenever I do, he shuts down! He won't talk or move or anything unless I touch him or something scares him."</p><p>Roy frowned at that. Despite it being a breach in protocol, he had been putting off getting Ed's report until the boy was more settled, but this complicated things. If he wouldn't even talk about it, it was going to be difficult to get the information Roy needed to find the scum that had put Ed in this position in the first place.</p><p>Just the thought of it made his blood boil anew.</p><p>He took a sip of coffee, letting it scald his tongue on the way down and settle his thoughts.</p><p>"It seems as if he's having some sort of dissociative episode," he said, trying to bring his thoughts back to the conversation.</p><p>"What can we do, though? He'll never agree to see a psychiatrist for it."</p><p>"He'll go," Roy assured him. "It's in his best interests, so I'm not taking 'no' for an answer." Though he had yet to work out how he was going to make that happen . . .</p><p>A sudden crash made them both jump from their seats.</p><p>Roy was the first to move, Al hot on his heels as he followed the stream of muffled swearing to the living room.</p><p>The sitting room was still dark in the predawn light, but Roy quickly found the cursing pile of fabric on the floor at the base of the stairs. "What are you doing, Fullmetal?!" he asked, bending down beside the blanket and pulling it back. Ed was curled up on the ground, dressed only a pair of shorts and the bandages around his torso. His only arm cradled his bandaged side as he hissed something that might have been a reply, but was probably more of a declaration of pain.</p><p>"You shouldn't be coming down the stairs by yourself!" Roy berated, trying to pull back Ed's hand to get a better look, but Ed resisted the movement.</p><p>"I can come down the stairs if I want to!" Ed snapped with a glower aimed too high above Roy's head. He shook Roy's hand away and pulled the blanket back over his shoulder almost protectively, tucking his legs under him with a wince as he made to stand.</p><p>"Whoa, Brother, let me help you," Al said, stepping forward to put a hand under Ed's arm.</p><p>Ed kept his scowl in place and brushed off his brother's touch, and though he was only a soul bound to a suit of armor, Roy saw the hurt in his glowing red eyes as if they were human. "I can stand up by myself," Edward insisted, granted his was voice much more gentle than it had been for Roy. He gingerly released his side as he sent his hand out, searching for something behind him to pull himself up.</p><p>It was Roy's turn to scowl. What had him so upset this early in the morning? "Ed, you're being unreasonable—"</p><p>Ed whirled on him, but the effect was somewhat muted by the way he was staring off to Roy's left. "No, <em>you're</em> being unreasonable! I'm blind, not invalid! I'm not just going to sit upstairs and wait for someone to come carry me down like some <em>cripple." </em>He spat the word like a curse. "And I'm not going to see some stupid psychiatrist! I can handle what's in my head myself!"</p><p>So that was what was really going on. The boy must have been eaves dropping on their conversation from the top of the stairs.</p><p>Roy sat back on his heels and took a deep breath, a vain effort to keep his temper in check. Why could the brat not do the smart thing, just for once? "Ed, you're blind. You don't know my house that well, and you're going to fall down the stairs and break your neck!"</p><p>"That would be just fine with me," Ed muttered, his voice suddenly muted as he dropped his empty eyes to the floor. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with this crap."</p><p>If Ed had shouted it, Roy wouldn't have given it a second thought.</p><p>But the hopeless way that he whispered it hit Roy so hard that he couldn't speak. Something cold settled in his gut as the weight of Ed's words sank in.</p><p>There was the slightest of chances that Ed was suicidal.</p><p>It wasn't uncommon for those who had gone through traumatic events to become that way. Roy himself had teetered on the brink before Hughes had pulled him from the edge, but this hadn't even been a possibility for Ed in Roy's mind.</p><p>Ed was so much stronger now than Roy had been.</p><p>
  <em>There was no way . . .</em>
</p><p>"Brother?" Al's voice asked, a hushed, hollow whisper in the suddenly still room.</p><p>Ed's eyes widened as if he just realized what he had said. "No, Al, I didn't mean that!" he said, suddenly frantic. He turned to Al, his hand reaching out for him just inches from his metal shins. "I would never do something like that! Al?" he asked, but his brother kept silent. "Alphonse, answer me!" he demanded, hand groping desperately through the air.</p><p>With great deliberateness, Alphonse bent down on his knees. Ed froze, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he listened. Roy looked on with a frown. What was the kid doing?</p><p>Al settled himself on the floor and leaned forward, mere inches from his brother.</p><p>And punched him in the face.</p><p>Ed fell back past Roy and landed against the wall, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock as he brought his hand up to his jaw. Admittedly the blow didn't look like it had been very hard, but once the shock of it wore off, Roy tensed, readying himself to deal with one of Ed's flashbacks.</p><p>But Ed just rubbed his jaw and stared while Al made shuddering sounds, as if he were trying to calm himself by pretending to breathe. "You're an <em>idiot</em>," he hissed, voice low and smoldering before he was shouting, "My brother is a <em>big, fat idiot!"</em></p><p>Ed stared ahead, dazed, sightless eyes unblinking as he leaned against the wall. "Al—"</p><p>"You <em>promised</em> me!" Al shouted, his voice vibrating with more anger than Roy had ever heard from the boy. Even he wanted to shrink away from Al's sudden rage. "You're not allowed to die because we have to get our bodies back! How could you even <em>say</em> such a thing?!</p><p>"And so what if you're blind? <em>So what? </em>I can't do this by myself, Brother! I need you, and now you need me! Is it so bad that I want to help you? We're only trying to help you get better, and all you do is throw it back in our faces?! You've been taking care of me for seven years, Brother. It's time for you to let me take care of you!"</p><p>Ed's mouth moved up and down wordlessly for a moment before some of the shock on his face dissolved away, like dust in the rain. His expression softened, and in the dimness, Roy almost could have sworn he saw his lip twitch in a ghost of a smile. "You're right, Al," Ed murmured, looking down. "You're right. I know you're only trying to help, and I'm just . . . not being very cooperative, am I?" he said with a self-deprecating smirk. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I acted this morning."</p><p>Leave it to Alphonse to get an apology out of Edward Elric.</p><p>Al took a shaky breath and nodded, though Ed couldn't see it. "And you'll go to the psychiatrist?"</p><p>A wince crossed his face, but it disappeared quickly. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll try it once," he said, the words seemingly reluctant to leave his lips.</p><p>"Six times," Al insisted.</p><p>Ed blinked. "Six?! That's an awful lot to just try something—"</p><p>"Six times," Al repeated, more forcibly. "Twice a week for three weeks."</p><p>The blond scowled. "Fine! I'll try it six times!"</p><p>Al's eyes seemed to soften, a certain warmth flooding them that contrasted sharply with the cold steel of his armor. "Thank you, Brother."</p><p>His scowl stayed firmly on his face. "But it's for you. Not for Colonel Jerk-face."</p><p>"Well," Roy commented, "Colonel 'Jerk-face' needs to look at your side now." He moved to sit beside Ed against the wall and took the opportunity to visually scan Ed's torso while his hand was out of the way, still cradling his jaw. "You didn't tear out any stitches, did you?" he asked, reaching out to peel back some of the thick bandages.</p><p>Ed flinched at the touch, but didn't swat him away this time. "It's fine," he said.</p><p>"Ed," his brother warned, a subtle hint at the conversation they had just had.</p><p>"Okay, so it hurts, but there's nothing either of you can do about it!" Ed amended grumpily, but he let Roy pull back the linens. A bit of blood seeped from four of the stitched injuries between his ribs and on his stomach where a couple of the stitches had torn lose, but nothing more. Still, with Silas moving his appointments down to twice a week, the wounds would need to be mended, cleaned and redressed.</p><p>"You're bleeding a bit, and several of these tore open. We'll have to clean this up," Roy said, looking to Alphonse. "Grab his hospital bag."</p><p>"You're going to be late to work," Al said, somehow managing to sound guilty. "We can take care of it."</p><p>"Yeah," Ed said a little too quickly, reaching for the blanket that had somehow gotten wrapped around his legs and pulling it over himself, hiding his torso from view. "Al can help me."</p><p>If Roy were being honest with himself, he would admit to feeling a twinge of hurt at the way Ed had said it, as if afraid of having Roy help him with the task.</p><p>Roy brushed it aside. Ridiculous.</p><p>"Fine. I trust you can handle breakfast as well, then?" he asked the suit of armor. "I have to be there in fifteen minutes, or Hawkeye is going to shoot me."</p><p>"In that case, maybe you should stick around a while longer," Ed suggested sweetly.</p><p>"Only if it's so I can shoot you," Roy muttered. On that note, he dragged himself to his feet and to the kitchen, dumping his mug of cooling coffee into a paper cup before shrugging on his winter coat and leaving the house.</p><p>He absently hoped the Elrics didn't destroy it by the time he got back.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>The fall from the stairs hadn't been all that bad, really. As far as Ed's careful fingers could tell, there were just a few pulled stitches between his ribs and his stomach, and a bit of blood. His whole side was on fire, but it shouldn't be that big of a deal to stitch it back up, right?</p><p>Right after Mustang had left, Al tried to see to the wound, and although Ed wasn't comfortable with anyone touching his body, especially so close to something that hurt, he decided he could do that much for Al's peace of mind, and besides, Al wasn't just anybody; he had been tending to Ed's injuries for as long as Ed could remember.</p><p>So he had done his best to lay quietly so Al could see to the wounds and tried his best not to hyperventilate as irrational fear threatened to suffocate him and yank his mind to the past. Silas had always had to give him a mild tranquilizer when performing his examinations, so Ed thought he did a pretty good job of not passing out or having a flashback or ripping Al's arm off in a terrified frenzy.</p><p>But the way his gauntlets moved across his skin was all too familiar, cruel gloved hands roughly tracing up and down his emaciated rib cage, digging in to find the hallows between bones perfect for sliding in thick nails or small blades . . .</p><p>Ed squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the sensation go away. His hand dug into the blanket beside him on the bed. It was soft and warm. It wasn't the basement. He was safe. It was only Al, it was only Al, it was only Al . . .</p><p>Suddenly all the contact was gone. He heard Al step away and frowned. "I can't do it, Brother," Al murmured in a voice that could only be described as defeated.</p><p>He immediately reached for his blanket and pulled it back around him, as if it would somehow protect him. "Why not?"</p><p>"Because . . . I can't feel pressure, and you keep moving and I don't want to hurt you . . . I'm sorry, Brother."</p><p>The tone of his voice broke Ed's heart. He said it like it was all his fault and not Ed's, when he was the one that couldn't get his stupid fears under control. "No, Al, I'm sorry. Here, just try it again. I'll try not to move, I promise." Though every instinct he had fought against it, he pulled the blanket back, the cool air of the room raising gooseflesh on his bare stomach.</p><p>Cold, just like in the basement . . .</p><p>No. <em>No.</em></p><p>Ed pulled the fabric back over him, squeezing his eyes shut even as his breathing quickened. He held his breath. He would not think about it. He would not he would not <em>he would not.</em></p><p>He heard Al move beside him, kneeling at the bedside. "No, Ed, we don't have to. You . . . you're scared of me," he said, his voice breaking. "So we don't have to."</p><p>Ed felt his horror and frustration like a weight on his chest, crushing him, making it hard to breathe at all. "Al, I'm not scared of you," he insisted, unashamed that his pleas sounded an awful lot like begging. He reached out with his hand, latching on to Al's gauntlet on the bed beside him. It was so cold, but despite the absence of a body, he could <em>feel</em> Al's soul in there, thrumming through the metal with his life and energy. He had always been able to feel it, and it was the most comforting thing Ed had experienced even before his sight was taken.</p><p>"Al, please, I'm sorry. I'm not scared of you, you know that. I could never be scared of you, you're my little brother."</p><p>"Why won't you tell me what happened, then?" he asked, voice small and hurt. "Why don't you trust me enough with that?"</p><p>Just the thought of remembering . . . Ed's hand released his brother and wrapped around his throat. The bed was too soft, the air too thick, the wolves too close. He curled up on his side, the blanket tightening around him as he did. The pressure was soothing, and he tried to control his breathing.</p><p>In, hold, out, hold. In, hold, out, hold.</p><p>If he thought about it, he would find himself back there. He would realize that this was all some kind of strange, beautiful dream, like a façade that only held if he didn't question it. If he remembered, he would wake up, and if that happened, he knew for a fact that his fractured mind wouldn't survive it.</p><p>And worst of all, it was hurting Al and there was nothing Ed could do about it.</p><p>How was he supposed to be there for Al like this? How could he take care of his little brother if he panicked when he touched him, shut down when he asked him questions?</p><p>It tore him apart inside. He could feel the conflict, the anguish in his gut, clawing his stomach like a beast trying to rip free. Sudden heat burned behind his eyes, and though he tried so hard to force the tears down, to at least show Al some semblance of the big brother he had once been, he couldn't fight the raw agony rushing through his veins. Hot tears spilled down his face, and he sobbed into the feathery down of the pillow under his head.</p><p>"Brother?" Al whispered, horrified and uncertain.</p><p>And Ed could do nothing to comfort him. He couldn't even stop his own tears, much less the phantom ones he could hear in his little brother's voice.</p><p>But he couldn't just sit there while Al was hurting, even if he was the cause of it. "A—Al, it's okay," he sniffled, trying to tear his hand away from his own throat. He finally got his fingers to loosen and sought out Al. "It's okay, Al, don't cry," he whispered, finally finding Al's hand again and grabbing hold.</p><p>"I can't . . . I'm not crying, Brother," Al said, sounding both surprised and confused.</p><p>Ed could feel his lips twitch into a thin, watery smile. "I'm your brother, Al," he said, trying to blink tears away. "You can't hide from me in that suit of armor."</p><p>For a moment, everything went still. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing, and if he didn't have Al's hand under his own, he would have thought his brother wasn't there at all.</p><p>"Al?" he asked.</p><p>He felt the mattress shift and the hand under his move as Al reached his gauntlets under his knees and back, lifting him into the air blanket and all.</p><p>"Al!" he hissed, flailing for some kind of purchase as he was held in midair, disoriented as the room seemed to spin around him.</p><p>Then he felt his side touch something cold and he knew he was being held in his little brother's arms, cradled to his chest like a child. "Al?" he asked, confused, uncomfortable, and a bit worried.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Ed," Al whispered, "but . . . can we just . . . I mean . . ."</p><p>Though he was finding it hard to ask, Ed suddenly realized what his little brother needed. How long had it been since Ed had just given him a hug? Or hit him on the shoulder, or pat his head, or do anything for him other than lean on him and use him as some kind of crutch?</p><p>Right now his little brother needed this, this physical contact that was supportive and familial, even if he couldn't feel it like a normal person. He had always been needier than Ed was in that regard, always seeking out hugs from him and his parents and the Rockbells, even as a little kid. He wanted to be held as a toddler, and he liked to hold their mom's hand, even in public when Ed would be too embarrassed to do it.</p><p>And now it had been months since Ed had so much as seen him, and Ed wasn't going to deny him this. He had been so selfish, and no doubt Al was drained and exhausted from taking care of him. It was easy to get so caught up in the nightmares of his mind and forget his little brother had needs, too.</p><p>He leaned his head against Al's shoulder, letting the cool metal soothe his still-spinning head. "Sure, Al," he answered, a small smile twitching his lips.</p><p>He felt Al move, slowly sitting down on the ground with a groan of metal. Steel legs folded underneath him and he was gently lowered into his little brother's lap, his huge arms wrapping around him.</p><p>And there in his brother's solid grip, Ed had never felt safer. He leaned into the cold metal, more comforting than human flesh, and closed his eyes.</p><p>The thrum of his brother's soul gently lulled him into his first dreamless sleep in months.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy was pleased to see his house was still standing when he came home from work.</p><p>He quickly transitioned from his car to the house, ducking inside out of the cold winter air. Weather reports said it was due to snow during the week and he was not looking forward to it at all.</p><p>"Boys?" he called, depositing a bag of library books on the floor before bolting the door and hanging his coat on the rack beside him.</p><p>"In here," Al answered from the kitchen.</p><p>Ditching his shoes and keys, Roy unbuttoned his military jacket and made his way to the kitchen. His nose suddenly caught the scent of tomatoes and garlic, making his stomach rumble hopefully as he stepped into the warm kitchen.</p><p>Alphonse was bent over the counter, slicing up onions while Ed was perched on the cabinet by the stove, his only arm absently stirring a pot of something over the burner beside him. Despite the two moving beings present though, there was a sort of stillness to everything. The air was permeated by the rich, nostalgic scent of home cooking. Steam swirled above their heads, illuminated by the soft overhead lighting and giving everything an almost surreal feel. Roy didn't normally pay attention to such things, but something about the whole scene gave him pause.</p><p>It was so . . . normal.</p><p>Roy couldn't help but stop just admire it. If he tried hard enough, Ed looked almost content, as if his sight wasn't gone and he had been good and well the past few months, and Al looked at peace there beside his brother, as if he hadn't spent weeks out trekking through the wilderness searching for him.</p><p>But the nostalgic image evaporated when Ed suddenly let out a hiss and jerked his hand back, dropping the wooden spoon into the pot. His eyes went wide as if being thrown into a flash back and everything stopped.</p><p>Roy's breath caught in his throat.</p><p>Al froze, soul fire eyes glued on his brother.</p><p>Then Ed shook his head, taking a shuddering breath and bringing his injured finger to his lips, eyes falling shut in what Roy now recognized as a sign he was trying to center himself.</p><p>"I told you to be careful, Ed," Al said lightly, but his own voice was shaky, as if he were trying too hard to react as he normally would to Ed before he was like this.</p><p>Roy had no such inhibitions. "Fullmetal, get down from there," he ordered, coming around the bar to help him down. "You shouldn't be around the stove."</p><p>Ed scowled as he neared. "If you touch me, I will plant my automail foot in your face," he promised, his hand carefully reaching beside him to find the wooden spoon.</p><p>He was going to burn himself again, and what would happen if he had a full-blown flashback and fell onto the heating element? If he got seriously hurt, there was no telling what it would do to his fragile mind . . .</p><p>Roy snatched the spoon and batted Ed's hand away. "There's a difference between being independent and being stupid. Remember what we talked about this morning?"</p><p>Ed's scowl darkened. "That was for my brother, not for you," he said.</p><p>Roy's temper started to simmer more than the pot before him. It had been a long, trying day at the office, full of dead ends and Generals breathing down his neck and he was <em>not</em> in the mood to deal with this. "Fullmetal, I am ordering you to get off that counter!"</p><p>"I'm not your military dog anymore! I don't have to listen to you!"</p><p>"It's <em>my</em> counter!"</p><p>"I'm making <em>you</em> food, ungrateful jerk!"</p><p>Roy paused and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to rein his anger in. Yelling at Ed only made him yell back. It might have been an effective tactic for dealing with disobedient soldiers, but it was completely useless when arguing with the small blond alchemist.</p><p>If he was going to share his home with the boy, it was probably time he learned that lesson.</p><p>"Brother, why don't you let the Colonel see about your stitches?" Al suggested tentatively.</p><p>Roy turned to glance at the suit of armor, then back to Ed. "You mean you didn't get them taken care of?" He didn't mean to sound so accusing, but both Ed and Al flinched regardless.</p><p>Al looked back down at the onions. "Um, well—"</p><p>"It's not his fault, it's mine," Ed muttered, hand curling to cover his side. "So don't blame him for it."</p><p>"I'm not blaming anyone," he assured the blond, doing his best to make his voice quiet and even. "Let me help you down, then I'll wash and we can look at it, okay?"</p><p>Ed looked like he was going to protest.</p><p>"Please, Brother?" Al asked.</p><p>The retort Ed was preparing was released in a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping and he nodded. "Fine. Al, stay here, okay?"</p><p>Roy frowned. It was odd that Ed wouldn't want his brother around, unless he was expecting something bad to happen. In that case, it would be stupid to <em>not</em> have Al there, but maybe that was another one of his attempts to protect Al from himself . . .</p><p>"Okay, Brother," Al said, looking a bit dejected, but it seemed like he had expected as much.</p><p>Ed only flinched a little as Roy took his elbow and helped him slid off the counter. The damaged automail leg gave underneath him, though, and Roy had to catch him before he hit the ground.</p><p>"Ed!" Alphonse yelped, jumping to come to his aide.</p><p>Ed waved him and Roy off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. You people freak out about everything," he grumbled, righting himself and finding his blanket that had fallen on the floor. Roy helped him drape it around himself, much to Ed's obvious discomfort, and watched as he ran his hand along the counter and limped out of the kitchen, almost tripping on a chair on his way by.</p><p>Al sighed as he left. "He's so stubborn."</p><p>"I can still hear you!" Ed called.</p><p>"He's also an annoying pipsqueak," Roy pointed out.</p><p>Ed made a strangled sound.</p><p>Roy smirked and ignored him. "How has he been today?"</p><p>"Just fine!" Ed snapped from the living room.</p><p>"I wasn't talking to you," Roy responded. "I wanted an accurate account."</p><p>Ed muttered something Roy couldn't make out, and Roy's smirk broadened. It was nice that some things didn't change.</p><p>Al dropped his voice to a low murmur and told him that apart from that morning and when he had tried to tend to his injuries, he had had a pretty good day. There was only one really bad flashback, but it seemed he was doing even better in Roy's house than at the dorms.</p><p>"It's like he's more comfortable here for some reason," Al mused, adding his onions to the simmering pot. "Maybe it's because you're here."</p><p>Roy blinked at him. "Excuse me?"</p><p>Al turned away sheepishly. If he had been in flesh and blood, Roy was sure he would have blushed. "I mean, he's always been more at ease when you're around. Like he doesn't have to be the adult for a little while, you know?"</p><p>"Yelling constitutes 'more at ease'?" Roy retorted, turning to wash his hands in the sink.</p><p>Al picked up a pepper and put the knife to it. "You know Brother. He can't express himself with words. But we talked today and I think I realized . . . I think he's trying to push us away and be so independent because he doesn't disappoint us. He doesn't want you to think less of him because he can't do what he used to be able to."</p><p>Roy frowned, wiping his hands on a cup towel. "Why would he believe I would think less of him? After what he's been through, it's only natural—"</p><p>"Maybe you should tell him."</p><p>"Tell him?" Roy demanded incredulously. "Tell him what?!"</p><p>"Just talk to him, Colonel. He needs to hear that it's okay for him to not be the same just yet. And he needs to hear it from someone that's not me."</p><p>Roy leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. He was fully aware that it made him look like a petulant child. "And why's that?"</p><p>"Sir, he trusts you to take care of him physically, but he's scared you expect him to be someone he can't be right now and that . . . that you won't accept him anymore. He knows that I'll love him no matter what, because he's my brother, but you walked into our lives, and really, it wouldn't be hard to imagine you walking back out now that Ed's not military anymore."</p><p>Roy felt his chest tighten, like something cold and heavy just sat on him. Was that really how they felt? That he would abandon them the moment it became too much of an inconvenience?</p><p>"Walk out? Alphonse, I'm not going to just ditch you two!"</p><p>He knew that the boys had trust issues. Their father had abandoned them when they were barely more than toddlers, and they had seen their fair share of the darker side of humanity since then. When Roy thought about it, from their perspective Roy was just another person with an ulterior motive, and he had admittedly done little to dissuade that image over the past few years.</p><p>And then after Roy's last mistake, sending Ed up North . . .</p><p>Really, it was no wonder they wouldn't trust him.</p><p>Roy almost cringed when he saw the boy's broad shoulders slump with relief, as if he had been looking for some kind of confirmation all along. "That's . . . that's good to hear." He was still for a minute, then straightened. "You should tell him."</p><p>Roy's mouth moved up and down wordlessly. Tell him? What was he supposed to say?! What words could possibly make up for any of it? "Alphonse—"</p><p>Al turned to face him, crimson eyes pleading. "Please? He needs it."</p><p>All of his protests died on his lips. He let out a weary sigh, bringing a hand to massage his forehead. "I'll try," he promised.</p><p>He was supposed to just waltz in and tell Ed not to worry, that he didn't think he was weak or pathetic and Roy wouldn't dump him on the side of the road like a puppy that outgrew the house.</p><p>Was there a way to say it without getting an automail foot in his face? Roy didn't think so.</p><p>Ed was curled up on the couch, unaware of the dark that was starting to creep in with the waning light outside. He was almost completely hidden under the blanket, like a child hiding from a nightmare.</p><p>Roy found himself wishing that it was from something as trivial as that.</p><p>Something that wasn't his fault.</p><p>He stepped around the sofa and turned on the table lamp, setting the hospital bag on the coffee table behind him. "Al says you had a good day," Roy commented, perching himself on the edge of the table and unpacking the necessary supplies.</p><p>He could practically hear Ed scowl. "A <em>good day</em>," he scoffed. "I'm not some kid in preschool, Mustang."</p><p>Five seconds into the conversation and Roy had already blown it. Wonderful. "That's not what I meant."</p><p>"Fine, then. Yes, I had a good day. The best part was when you walked out the door this morning."</p><p>Roy smirked. "You're in a fine mood tonight, aren't you?"</p><p>"Yeah, well, the good day ended when you came <em>back</em>."</p><p>"I can't help you with the stitches with the blanket and shirt in the way."</p><p>Slowly, the blanket came back to reveal Ed's sullen face. "Do we have to do this?" he asked. "It can't be that bad."</p><p>Roy grabbed a bottle of disinfectant. "If it's torn open, there's a chance for infection. You know that."</p><p>His response didn't seem to satisfy the blond, but he raised his hand and slowly pulled his shirt up, exposing his gaunt torso riddled with stitches, bandages and old scars, all covering his pale skin like grotesque graffiti.</p><p>Roy winced upon seeing it in the better light. Why did this have to happen to Ed?</p><p>"Hurry."</p><p>The request wasn't so much impatient as it was fearful, and that made Roy's heart clench.</p><p>He leaned forward and quickly got to work, removing the rest of the bandages and examining the torn flesh. The worst of it was his lower side, where one of the dog bites had been. It was a grisly wound that wouldn't heal prettily no matter what ministrations were given it.</p><p>Ed was a bundle of tension, with his jaw clenched and eyes screwed shut. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps, and Roy was afraid he would pass out. Maybe conversation would make him feel more at ease? "The crew wanted me to tell you hello," he said.</p><p>Ed grunted a response, but said nothing.</p><p>So much for that, then.</p><p>Roy sprayed disinfectant on a sterile cloth. "This is going to sting."</p><p>Ed gritted his teeth and hissed as the fluid made contact with his open wounds. Roy did his best to cleanse the area and mop up the remaining blood quickly, but before he could finish, the boy gasped, pulling his hand up to his throat and making a chocking sound.</p><p>Roy immediately pulled his hands back. "Ed?"</p><p>One shaky, ragged breath later, "It's nothing," he whispered. "Just hurry."</p><p>Roy dabbed a numbing agent over the area. "So, how are you liking it here?" he tried again, hoping the conversation would take some of the edge off, or at least distract him a bit. At this point, he would have given anything for tranquilizers to give the kid. He hated seeing him this way. It wasn't fair and it wasn't <em>Ed.</em></p><p>"I like it fine," Ed replied. "Especially when you're not here."</p><p>"And here I was, thinking you were just accepting my offer to be closer to me. I understand I am something of an idol for you, so it would be understandable."</p><p>He snorted derisively. "As if I would want to become a lazy, worthless, ego-tripping idiot." He didn't seem to notice Roy had started sewing the wound shut.</p><p>Roy was suddenly, overwhelmingly curious. "So why did you accept the offer, then?" he asked, all hint of teasing gone. Ed made it plain as day that he didn't particularly like Roy at all. So why had he agreed to stay? It wasn't as if Roy would have let him turn down the offer, but he didn't even put up much of a fight. Now that Roy stopped to question it, it didn't make any sense.</p><p>Maybe the kid didn't hate him as much as he let on. It would make saying what needed to be said that much easier if he knew it would be accepted and not hurled back in his face via Ed's fist.</p><p>Another snort, but it wasn't quite as easy as the first had been. He twitched as Roy tugged the needle through a ragged flap of skin. "Al wanted to stay. Besides, it's easier to bum off of you."</p><p>Of course it was Al. Roy couldn't say he was surprised, but he had hoped that maybe there was something else there, that maybe Ed didn't completely hate him for what happened. Al wasn't usually wrong about his brother, but he must have been off this time. There was no way Ed could possibly trust Roy, or would even want to trust him.</p><p>And yet . . .</p><p>"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."</p><p>Ed blinked as if surprised. "What?"</p><p>"I said," Roy drawled, "that I'm glad you're here. Now it's more convenient than ever for me to make fun of you."</p><p>Ed scowled. "That's what I thought, smug jerk."</p><p>"And makes it easier for me to look out for you."</p><p>Ed opened his mouth the let out another insult, then shut it as he processed what Roy just said. "Mustang . . ." he began uncertainly, twisting a bit where he lay as if completely uncomfortable with the sudden turn in the conversation.</p><p>"Don't move so much, Fullmetal. You'll make me stitch outside of the lines."</p><p>He scowled, but there was an ease to it, a relief that the conversation had returned to familiar territory. "That's what I get for letting an incompetent moron do it."</p><p>Roy finished tying off the last of the stitches. "Well, I'm already finished, so I can't be that incompetent."</p><p>Ed blinked, hand moving to feel his side. "Already?"</p><p>"Don't sound so surprised. I've stitched you up plenty of times, remember?"</p><p>He quickly pulled his shirt down and wrapped the blanket around himself. Roy watched the boy try to get up with one arm for a moment before gently taking his elbow and helping him to his feet. "I can stand up myself, Mustang," Ed groused, but didn't shake him away as he led him around the sofa and back into the kitchen.</p><p>"You can also trip all by yourself. That's very impressive."</p><p>"Almost as impressive as your incompetence," Ed muttered.</p><p>"And yet, nowhere near as impressive as your midget-like stature."</p><p>"I'm not short, you oversized freak!"</p><p>"Are you guys arguing again?" Al sighed as Roy guided the blond into a chair.</p><p>"No," they both said.</p><p>Al looked back and forth in between them with something between affection and irritation before setting two plates full of pasta on the set table. "If you guys think you can sit here alone and not kill each other, I'm going to go check out those books you brought back."</p><p>"No promises," Ed muttered, reaching out in front of him and feeling for a fork.</p><p>"We'll be fine," Roy assured him, taking his own seat. "Thank you both for the meal. It's nice to come home to real food."</p><p>"I'll bet," Ed said, shoveling too much food into his mouth and rendering his next comment about Roy's lacking food stores all but unintelligible.</p><p>"I was stocking for one, not one and a teenager with the appetite of a grasshopper."</p><p>"Who are you calling small?!" he demanded around his food.</p><p><em>"Sir,"</em> Al said exasperatedly. "He's going to choke."</p><p>Ed finally swallowed. "More like I'm going to choke <em>him</em>," he said, shoving in the next forkful.</p><p>Roy tried to keep his teasing about the boy's appetite to a minimum, generally. The first time he had eaten real food since his rescue, he almost decked a nurse that got too close to him. Even now as Roy watched, he was hunched over his meal protectively, as if afraid someone would get too close and snatch it away from him. If Roy had to guess, that was probably what had happened to him in that basement, and it made Roy's blood boil to just think about it.</p><p>But sometimes, Roy thought the teasing helped the kid. It was an old habit, a favorite routine that was as long-standing as their relationship. There was something blissfully natural about Ed's responses, as if it were as easy as breathing, and at times, it almost seemed like the boy's irritation was a front, a barrier to hide how relieved he was that something in his life was consistent.</p><p>Roy couldn't be sure, though . . .</p><p>The phone in the living room let out a shrill ring.</p><p>"I'll get it," Al said, rushing out of the room, his metal footsteps clanking down the hall.</p><p>Roy stared after the boy before settling back in his chair. He could hear Alphonse picking up the phone in the hall on the third ring and murmur a polite greeting, but the rest of the conversation was lost to him.</p><p>Beside him, Ed suddenly froze. The fork slipped from his hand, clattering noisily against the plate and bouncing off to hit the table. His face became as pale as death.</p><p>Roy frowned. He would have assumed it was a flashback, but he didn't have the same glazed look he usually got when he was trapped in a memory. "Ed?"</p><p>He worked his jaw up and down a moment before sound came out. "She's . . . tomorrow . . . <em>tomorrow</em> . . ."</p><p>"Who? What are you—?"</p><p>Alphonse suddenly flew around the corner, soul-fire eyes wide with panic. "Winry's coming <em>tomorrow!"</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . . tomorrow . . .</em>
</p><p>The word echoed in Ed's mind over and over again, an awful record stuck in a glitch.</p><p>Winry was coming <em>tomorrow</em>.</p><p>He was vaguely aware of Al and Mustang talking, but it sounded far away, as if hearing it through a wall.</p><p>
  <em>"Tomorrow? Why the sudden change?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I don't know! Miss Hawkeye said Winry just called the office to make sure we were still in Central! She's getting on a train tonight!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Then she should be here around lunch."</em>
</p><p>He could hear the blood rushing through his ears now, and his body felt light, as if he weren't even in it anymore. He was sure that if he could see, his vision would be tunneling.</p><p>Of course, if he could see, then this wouldn't be a problem.</p><p>"Ed?" Mustang's voice suddenly pierced through the haze, bringing back the weight of everything, making his chest feel suddenly heavy.</p><p>
  <em>Tomorrow . . .</em>
</p><p>He shook his head slowly, trying in vain to clear it. "I can't . . . <em>I can't . . ."</em> He tried to tell them, but the words wouldn't come. "She can't see me like this," he whimpered instead. "She can't see <em>this."</em></p><p>"Brother—?" Al questioned somewhere above and behind him.</p><p>Why didn't they understand?!</p><p><em>"I'm not ready!"</em> he wailed, sounding desperate even to his own ears. "She wasn't supposed to be here until next week! Why is she coming <em>tomorrow?"</em> It was getting hard to breathe, as if his lungs were too small to take in the air he needed. He felt like he was suffocating.</p><p>Something warm and steady settled on his shoulder. He flinched from the sudden contact, but it didn't budge. "Ed, you need to calm down," Mustang said, low and steady. "You need to calm down and think about this."</p><p>Neither of them understood. But how could they? They had never been so pathetic, so helpless before. It was a special torture that seemed to be reserved for him alone.</p><p>Not that he didn't deserve it, but that didn't mean he wanted it, either.</p><p>"This isn't how it's supposed to be," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "It's not supposed to be like this . . ."</p><p>The hand tightened around his bicep. "Fullmetal," Mustang said, his voice firmer, a clear warning for Ed to get a hold of himself.</p><p>How could he, though? He was pathetic and helpless and <em>stuck here</em>. He suddenly needed to move, to be anywhere but here, but where could he go? He couldn't leave the house. He'd be hit by a car within the hour.</p><p>But he couldn't just sit there, knowing she would be here <em>tomorrow</em>.</p><p>He pushed away from the table, so suddenly that it hardly registered in his mind that he did it. In the same motion, he shook off Roy's grip and moved, his hand trailing the table and the wall, moving with his broken, stumbling gait to where the living room should be.</p><p>Stupid automail. If it wasn't for that, she wouldn't even have to know what had happened, how he had failed.</p><p>The anxiety tugged at him, shadowy wisps of terror that raked down his spine, reminding him of the feeling he'd get when he heard footsteps upstairs, his captors running across creaking floorboards to get him, to drag him out by the neck and hurt him for things he didn't know. The door creaked open and cold seeped into his very bones, the fear freezing him from the inside out—</p><p>"Brother, where are you going?" Al's concerned voice rang out, jarring him free from the memory that had almost taken him.</p><p>He shook his head. He had to keep moving, to do something. <em>Anything</em>. Anything to keep from thinking about her and her being there and seeing him like this.</p><p>He didn't have an answer for Alphonse, so he didn't reply. He kept moving, staggering uncertainly as the floor below gave way to carpet.</p><p>Then his stupid automail leg locked up once more and he fell with a surprised cry, shoulder grazing the wall as he crashed to the ground in a heap of fabric, flesh and metal.</p><p>He could hear both Roy and Alphonse at his side in an instant. Again, that warm hand latched onto his arm. "Fullmetal, where are you going?" Mustang demanded sharply, the tone overlaying something almost like worry.</p><p>Ed flinched at the harsh demand, but he tried to tell him. "She's coming <em>tomorrow</em>. I can't just sit there! I need to . . . I need to . . ." He frowned in frustration. How could he possibly explain it to them when he wasn't sure what he was doing himself? "To do <em>something!"</em></p><p>"And what would that something be?" Mustang asked, voice low with disapproval. "Stagger and stumble around the room until you give yourself a concussion?"</p><p>And the sad thing was, it was true. Ed could move all he wanted, but he would just end up breaking something, or hurting himself and upsetting Al. He was free of that basement, but because of what they did to him, they had guaranteed he would always be a prisoner in his own body.</p><p>And now not only did he have to share the shame with his precious brother and the man he tried to tell himself he didn't admire more than anyone, but now with Winry.</p><p>She was his measure of normalcy, the one unchanging thing in his life. No matter what atrocities he committed, what madness the world threw at him, what chaos shredded his life, the Rockbell home was the one place he could go to escape. It was the one place he could put aside his responsibilities, just for a little while, and be truly happy with Al and his extended family.</p><p>But her, coming here, seeing this . . . the illusion would be shattered. She would find him in this place of despair, even more helpless than he had been the night he had lost his arm and leg and Al's body. She would see him broken and destroyed, a husk of who he was supposed to be. The way he was, he couldn't take care of himself, much less his little brother or her.</p><p>She would see his weakness, his failure, and it was intolerable.</p><p>What would she think of him? The boy that wasn't afraid of anything, quailing at unexpected whispers, freezing up when he heard running water. The boy that protected her from bullies and snakes, hiding under a blanket.</p><p>She would see his weakness and treat him like a fragile vase, too thin and brittle to be the boy she knew. Nothing would be the same ever again, and this would be the final nail in the coffin. The last vestiges of normalcy would die the moment she found out and that was that.</p><p>Maybe that's why he was so afraid, why he had to move, to run away. If she found out, there would be no place to hide. There was no normal left, no one else to lie to, and he would finally have to admit it to himself.</p><p>Admit that he was blind, helpless and useless, doomed to live out the rest of his life in darkness, to never atone for his sins.</p><p>Forever condemning Alphonse to be nothing more than a soul trapped in a suit of armor.</p><p>He leaned against the wall, pulling his legs up to his face, despair threatening to drown him.</p><p>"Brother?" Al asked.</p><p>"What am I supposed to do?" Ed asked, despising how weak his voice sounded as he hugged himself, blanket pulled taught around him. "She'll . . . she'll cry, and—" a sudden, terrible thought entered his mind. "What if I hit her?! Al . . . Mustang, what if I <em>hurt</em> Winry? What if I—"</p><p>"You're not going to hurt Winry," Mustang interrupted firmly. "You'll do no such thing."</p><p>Ed shook his head. "I've hurt people before. Don't try to tell me I haven't, I'm blind, not stupid," he hissed before either of them could interject. Ed knew when he had done some damage. Well, maybe not in the moment, but afterwards he could gather pretty well when someone was hurt because of him. He knew Al, Mustang and others had received their fair share of dents and bruises at his hand. One particularly violent flashback had ended up with one of the nurses at the hospital admitted to the emergency room. It was stupid to assume nothing would happen just because it was Winry. As much as it pained him to admit it, he wasn't in control of himself all of the time.</p><p>"We won't let you hurt her, Ed," Al promised, a leather gauntlet coming to rest on Ed's other shoulder. "I'll be right there the whole time."</p><p>Ed hadn't assumed otherwise, but hearing it took the faintest edge off of his anxiety.</p><p>But would that be enough?</p><p>Al was everything. He was Ed's whole world, inside and out. He was the sole reason Ed was still alive, but right there, in that moment, he needed something more.</p><p>Ed tried to turn to Mustang's general direction. He opened his mouth, trying to ask if he would be there, too, but the request wouldn't make it past his lips.</p><p>He had taken too much from Mustang. It would be pushing his luck to ask for any more. Besides, it wouldn't be too much longer before Mustang grew tired of him and his pathetic needs and baggage and kicked him out. It was just how life worked, the Law of Equivalency. He had nothing to give, so there was no reason for Mustang to let him stay any longer than his conscience dictated, despite what he said about being "glad Ed was here." The only reason he was probably doing this now was in a vain hope that Ed's sight would be miraculously restored and he would once again be a useful dog of the military, another boost to his goal of Fuhrer.</p><p>Hoenheim left for reasons similar; his family provided nothing for him, so he had gone.</p><p>Mustang could be expected to do the same. It was just the way people were. Ed didn't want to admit to himself how much that hurt, how much he hoped he was wrong and that Mustang wasn't just like Hoenheim.</p><p>But that just goes to show how pathetic he had become.</p><p>Winry would find out and his life in Resembool would be over. Mustang would soon reject him after that. He and Al would be left alone, and Al only because he wouldn't leave Ed's side for anything.</p><p>And if Ed really loved his brother, then at that point, he would do everything in his power to sever that connection. For Alphonse.</p><p>Ed knew all of this would happen, but he just wasn't ready for it to happen so <em>soon</em>.</p><p>He could feel his body trembling, rebelling against him as the fear and exhaustion became too much. Mustang's hand was still on his left shoulder, and Al's on his right, both supporting him, one firm, one gentle.</p><p>"Come on, Brother," Al said softly, giving Ed's empty shoulder port a small shake. "You should finish eating and get some rest."</p><p>He was famished before, but even with his newly developed instinct to eat everything he could while he could, the thought of food seemed particularly nauseating. Like after being dissected and cut up for hours, the scent of his own burning flesh hanging thickly around him. He was too sickened by the pain and the smell to hope to keep anything down. Somewhere nearby, the wolves were fighting over the scraps of food that had been brought down, but Ed hurt too much to fight for his share. He had thrown up every last bit of bile in his emaciated stomach, and the scent of old meat almost convinced him to throw up his intestines as well.</p><p>His lungs labored to bring in enough of the frigid air, hoping it would settle him somehow. He needed to be ready. As soon as the dogs were finished with their meal, they would come to him, crazed with hunger and the scent of his blood.</p><p>He pressed his hand to his side, trying to staunch the bleeding on his right even as more fluid seeped between the ribs on his left. He was so sick and so dizzy. He wasn't sure there would be a way to fight them off this time, not like this.</p><p>Never before had they hurt him for this long. Maybe they were getting desperate, hoping that he would break in time for something, like a preemptive strike on Amestris forces or some sort of ambush on their supply lines.</p><p>But Ed didn't know the answers to their interrogations, so it was really easy for him to tell them what they could do with their questions.</p><p>He pressed his shoulder to his jaw, even as he tried to hold his side. He had been trying for heaven-knows how long to get under their skin, to get an emotional reaction from them. To get them back the only way he could. Tonight, one of them had hauled off and punched him in the jaw. No snide comments, no cruel jokes about his naked, wasting body or pretty little dissections of the muscles in his back. Just a pure, animalistic, angry reaction to his defiance.</p><p>He was relatively sure something in his face was fractured, but there was a certain amount of smugness he felt about it, like it was his own small victory. It tasted like hope.</p><p>And if anything killed faster than knives and wolves and starvation, it was hope.</p><p>People with hope died of a broken heart.</p><p>Something ghosted past him, and he straightened. He couldn't stop shaking from the cold and possibly shock, but he was ready. He showed the Drachmans what he was made of, and now he would show these stupid mutts.</p><p>One of them moved his shoulder, wrapping his jaws around his bicep, but he was ready. Before the beast could draw blood, he swung his head and bit the creature in the neck. Hard.</p><p>The ensuing cry was anything but canine and Edward's blood froze in his veins.</p><p>He pulled back, fresh terror enveloping him, clouding his mind. Where was he? What was going on? He thought he was in the basement, but . . . he thought he was in Mustang's house, too . . . Which one was the dream? Which one was real?</p><p>
  <em>"Ed!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Fullmetal!"</em>
</p><p>He scrambled back, tripping over some sort of fabric. His back hit the wall, but instead of being comforted by it, it increased his panic. He tried to crawl away, someplace he wouldn't be trapped. The taste of blood was in his mouth, sickening and burning with iron.</p><p>Something latched onto his arm and he wheeled back, baring his teeth in warning. <em>"Get away," </em>he snarled, more than willing to tear apart the next thing that touched him. He got his feet under him, but his automail was broken. He was injured and handicapped in multiple ways. He knew there were at least two of them and his hand touched another wall and he knew he was cornered. There was nowhere he could go unless it was through his captors.</p><p><em>"Get away from me!"</em> he roared again, trying to blink away the terrified tears he could feel burning his eyes. He couldn't see them, only sense them. They could do a hundred things to him and if they put any effort into it, there would be little he could do to stop them. He was completely at their mercy, and vainly hoping they didn't know it.</p><p>But they could sense weakness like he could sense danger, and it wouldn't be long before he was back in that chair or on that slab of cold steel, being tortured and defiled and unable to do anything but scream.</p><p>And scream and scream until his throat bled and that cursed hope <em>died</em>.</p><p>"Brother, <em>please."</em></p><p>His brain stopped.</p><p>Like a stream of sunlight breaking through a storm, his mind quieted and he knew. He wasn't sure if it was the familiarity of voice, or if it was how scared and desperate and hurt it was, but it pierced through the darkness, shattering the loathsome memories like glass.</p><p>
  <em>Alphonse . . .</em>
</p><p>Then that means he . . . this was Mustang's house. This wasn't a dream, right? And did he . . . did he hurt Mustang?</p><p>The tang of blood in his mouth was incontestable proof.</p><p>He could feel their eyes on him, their stares that held equal parts pain and pity and fear. Watching him like a dangerous animal.</p><p>He slowly brought his shaky hand to his mouth, wiping the blood away. Mustang's blood. He had bit him, like some kind of feral dog.</p><p>He didn't deserve Mustang's kindness. He didn't deserve Alphonse's love, or Winry's care, and he didn't deserve this place to stay.</p><p>His hand wandered to his throat, where the collar and leash had been attached for so long.</p><p>He deserved to be thrown out on the street like the dog he was.</p><p>"Mustang—" he tried to say, but the name was strangled in his throat. He tried again, "Are . . . are you . . ?"</p><p>"It's fine, Ed," came the response, but his voice was thin, laced with the pain and discomfort that he was trying valiantly to hide.</p><p>Ed shook his head. "I'm . . . I'm <em>so sorry,</em> Colonel . . . I didn't—"</p><p>"Forget about it," Mustang said gently. Kindly. "It was just a scratch. Are you okay?"</p><p>Was he okay? Ed had just bitten him and he had the gall to ask if <em>Edward</em> was okay?</p><p>It was too hot, too oppressive in here with their stares and his guilt that was slowly drowning him where he stood.</p><p>It was too much. <em>Too much</em>.</p><p>He tried to run, he really did. He tried to move fast before they could catch him and smother him in his guilt. He lunged forward, barely making it a step before he ran straight into a warm body.</p><p>He smelled dark earth and spicy mesquite, tainted by the rich tang of blood. He tried to pull away, to keep running, but strong arms wrapped around him and wouldn't let him go.</p><p><em>"Stop it,"</em> he wailed, straining against the hold. "Let go of me! <em>Let go!"</em></p><p>But Mustang didn't listen, and his withered body was too weak to fight him. "Ed, I want you to listen to me," Mustang murmured near his ear, holding his head trapped between the crook of the older man's neck and a strong hand at the back of his head. Ed struggled again, not wanting to be there, not <em>deserving</em> to be there, but Mustang's grip only tightened. <em>"Listen, </em>Fullmetal," he hissed. "And <em>stop that!"</em></p><p>Ed froze.</p><p>"I don't know what all happened to you, Ed. I don't know what awful things they did to you, or how badly they must have hurt you to make you like this," he whispered, voice rough with emotion that Ed couldn't begin to understand. "I . . . I know you don't trust me, Ed. I know I haven't given you much reason to. But if you'll give me just a <em>little</em>, Edward. If you will <em>let me</em> help you, I will. I will help make this right again. Part of that is Winry coming. Part of that is psychiatrists and doctors, and part of it is Al and me and the others. As much as I want to, as much as it kills me, I can't make it go away alone. I need you to help me. I need you to <em>trust</em> me, just with this. Just with getting you through this. Can you do that, Ed? Can you give me that much?"</p><p>Trust him? Trust him with his weakness, with his vulnerability? Trust him to take care of this, to help him?</p><p>
  <em>Trust him to not leave?</em>
</p><p>It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. Unless Mustang felt indebted to him for something, there was no equivalent exchange here. It defied everything Edward knew, everything that made sense. He couldn't put that kind of trust in someone so close to leaving.</p><p>Could he?</p><p>"Edward, please," Mustang murmured, voice thick, pleading. "I know you're scared, kid. I know you don't want Winry to see this. I know you don't want <em>us</em> to see this, but please, Ed. You have to trust me. This is what's best. I wouldn't let her come if I didn't think it was best for you."</p><p>Mustang was <em>begging</em> him. Did it mean that much to him? Was Edward's trust that important?</p><p>Was <em>he</em> that important?</p><p>"Colonel . . ." he whispered from where his face was buried in the older man's shoulder. He was warm and strong and Ed felt so <em>safe</em> there, like maybe there was a chance everything could be okay.</p><p>It tasted like hope.</p><p>Ed tried not to be sick.</p><p>"It will be okay, Edward," he whispered, still holding him, cradling him like a child. "I promise you, when Winry comes, it will be okay. I won't let you hurt her. It will be okay, just trust me."</p><p>He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll try," he choked.</p><p>It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth.</p><p>Because how could you trust someone that would end up leaving you?</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy couldn't quite keep the wince off of his face as Alphonse poured antiseptic over the bite wound in his forearm. It was a nasty injury; two ragged, crimson half-moons punctured into his flesh that dribbled blood down his wrist with every pump of his heart. "I'm not sure that you shouldn't go to the infirmary for this, Colonel," Al said, sounding somehow guilty, as if he were the one that bit Roy. "It's pretty deep."</p><p>"And here I had always assumed his bark was worse than his bite," Roy commented wryly, dabbing at the excess bloody fluid with a clean towel. "Just wrap it and I'll check on it in the morning."</p><p>Even without a face to work with, Alphonse managed to convey his disapproval easily enough. "Okay," was all he said though, thick fingers rifling through Roy's first aid kit for some gauze.</p><p>Silence stretched between them as Roy watched Al work, his eyes following the young boy's movements, but his mind back to the look on Ed's face right after he bit him.</p><p>There, with his back against the wall, he had looked so <em>scared</em>, so animalistic with Roy's blood dripping down his chin and his teeth bared like a dog. It disturbed Roy greatly to think Ed had been put in a place like that, where that kind of reaction would be necessary, It was a behavior that Edward had learned and cultivated, just so he could survive those horrid three months.</p><p>Silas had called him at the office to let him know Ed's first psychologist appointment was later that week. There was no way anyone could talk Roy out of Ed missing it. Not after this. As much as Roy hated to admit it, that last flashback was more aggressive than anything Ed had ever exhibited before. His other flashbacks had him fighting off others in a terrified frenzy, but this one was different. There was a clear intent to do harm, and that made Roy nervous.</p><p>"Colonel?"</p><p>Roy blinked, focusing his eyes once again on the suit of armor sitting across the table from him. "What is it?"</p><p>Alphonse was looking at him, but once Roy acknowledged it, he ducked his head and glued his eyes on the task at hand. "There's something I need to talk to you about," he said, casting a nervous look at the stairway, as if to ensure Ed was still in bed and not eavesdropping from the top of the steps.</p><p>Roy frowned, unsure about the boy's hesitancy. There was a level of foreboding about it that Roy found terribly unsettling, like the flutter you got in your stomach right before stepping onto a mine field. "What's that?" he asked, his own voice measured, cautious.</p><p>Alphonse fell silent as he wrapped the bandages around Roy's arm in steady, careful movements.</p><p>Roy waited.</p><p>"Sir, I'm going to leave."</p><p>Roy stared in incomprehension. He was simply unable to wrap his mind around such a statement.</p><p>
  <em>Al, leaving? Leaving his house? For how long? Or maybe leaving Central . . . ? What would he do with Ed? Where would they possibly be going in such a state? </em>
</p><p>"I don't know that Ed's well enough for travel, Alphonse," Roy said deliberately, as if talking to a slow child. Perhaps Al just wasn't thinking clearly, but there was no way Ed could just be <em>taken out</em> like that.</p><p>"I don't think you understand, Colonel," Al said. His eyes lifted to meet his, crimson and careful. "I'm leaving. I'm not taking Ed."</p><p>Roy gaped for only a second, but then realized he must have misheard, because the brothers didn't just <em>separate</em>. That wasn't how it worked, wasn't how <em>they</em> worked. Unless ordered apart, or some sort of necessity required it, they were together. Always. Period.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Alphonse, but could you repeat that?" he asked stupidly.</p><p>"It's not what you might think," Alphonse said, voice quivering as if filled with emotion. As if he was about to cry, despite the physical impossibilities. "It's just . . . I don't see a way around it, Colonel. The only leads I've found to get his sight back point to Xing. After tonight . . ." He looked down at his leather hands. "I can't just sit around and <em>leave</em> him like this, Colonel. Every time he wants to do something he can't, every time he looks so scared . . . this is <em>torturing</em> him." He was gaining momentum, and even without a body's physical reaction to grief, Roy could hear every ounce of it in his voice. His gaze snapped up to meet Roy's "He can't sleep, and he had nightmares bad before, but now it's like he even has them when he's awake! I can't leave him like this when there might be a way to fix it!"</p><p>Roy frowned as a foreign, uncomfortable sensation stirred in his chest. "Alphonse, I know you and Ed have done a lot of travelling. Do you know how far away Xing is? Do you know how long it will take you to get there? Much less find the answers you need and get back?"</p><p>Alphonse nodded. "I know," he whispered, turning his attention back to Roy's forearm still laid bare on the table between them. He finished tying it off with a steady hand. Roy was certain that if Alphonse had been in a real body, he would be shaking too much to perform the simple task. "But I can't leave him like this any longer than he has to be . . . and that's what I want to talk to you about."</p><p>Again, his eyes met Roy's, but this time, instead of a well of grief, Roy saw something else there. A steel that looked so much like the stuff once found in Edward's gaze; pure, unadulterated, unapologetic determination.</p><p>"I want you to promise me you'll take care of him while I'm gone."</p><p>The unidentified feeling in Roy's chest blossomed into realization:</p><p>
  <em>Panic.</em>
</p><p>Roy was a soldier. He was used to being in charge, being in control. A snap of his fingers could end life or save it, the words from his mouth inspire fear or hope.</p><p>But Ed . . . Roy had taken all of his power and betrayed the boy. With nothing more than sketchy intelligence and an unrefined plan, Roy had sent the child into harm's way and he had come back missing pieces of his body and his soul. If there was one person that couldn't be trusted with Ed's welfare, it was Colonel Roy Mustang.</p><p>But here Alphonse was, asking him to protect and care for what he valued most, despite his failure. As if the whole thing hadn't been his fault to begin with.</p><p>As if he were somehow adequate to do this without Alphonse's help.</p><p>Edward could sense it, the need to mistrust Roy, the need for caution. Roy had betrayed him once, and he could do it again easily. Roy understood that he needed the boy to rely on him if he were going to make any headway in dealing with Ed's new limitations and insecurities, but there was a difference between Ed trusting him and Roy trusting himself. A big, ugly, terrifying difference.</p><p>"Alphonse," Roy began, the feeling in his chest tightening, making him take a deep, controlled breath to ease it. "I don't know that that's a good idea—"</p><p>The boy shook his helmet. "Sir, you're the only one. Besides me, you're the only one he would ever let help him. You're the only one who can do it. I know Ed. I know how stubborn he is."</p><p>Alphonse broke eye contact and began packing away medical supplies back into their container, his movements methodical and distracted. "After . . . after <em>that</em> night, when we lost so much, he was devastated and he was lost, but that was because he had no direction or purpose. If you didn't come when you did . . . I'm not sure what would have happened to us.</p><p>"But that's what he needs right now. You gave him a direction, and you can do it again. He'll want to give up and just quit because he sees no way through this, but you won't let him, and right now he needs to be pushed more than ever."</p><p>Alphonse paused, but Roy's mind was reeling too much to come up with any sort of response. How could he refuse this? What words could he give to convince Al that this was wrong? He couldn't be trusted, not with something this big, something this important. Not with Edward.</p><p>"When I leave," Alphonse continued. "I don't think he's going to react well, but I'd feel a lot better knowing that he's here with you than if I left him with anyone else. I mean that, Colonel."</p><p>Roy wasn't sure if he should feel terrified or elated that Alphonse trusted him so much.</p><p>He settled for holding his breath and trying not to choke.</p><p>"Alphonse—"</p><p>"I know I'm asking a lot, Colonel. But I wouldn't ask if I had another option." His eyes were unwavering, no trace of the uncertainty he had possessed earlier. "So, will you promise to take care of him?"</p><p>The heavy question lingered on the kitchen table between them like a sleeping tiger: docile and dangerous. Roy could sense the threat as clearly as when he was caught in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle.</p><p>This was not a promise to be taken lightly. If he accepted this binding contract, he would be held to it with uncompromising severity. If he accepted and didn't do all in his power to ensure Ed's safety and wellbeing, if he was incapable of protecting Alphonse's big brother, the consequences were more or less obvious by his tone of voice:</p><p>Alphonse would kill him.</p><p>Roy didn't doubt this truth for a moment.</p><p>Alphonse was the opposite of his brother. He was kind, good-natured, and understanding. He was patient and thoughtful and Roy had always found him likeable, but Roy knew from experience what losing someone close to you could do to your mind. The one desire that had plagued him in the dark months following Hughes' death was to find his murderer and turn him into a singed, bloody carcass. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't deny it. And he suspected that no matter how kind, how gentle the soul, grief could drive one to impossible extremes.</p><p>And if Alphonse had a weakness, it was Edward.</p><p>Part of Roy wanted to deny any responsibility. Ed wasn't his subordinate anymore. He had already gone above and beyond for him, lending him his own home and his care and support. Surely that was enough. Surely his obligations had been over the moment Ed's blind hand scratched out an illegible signature on his honorable discharge form.</p><p>But if Roy denied this, if he turned his back on them now, he would be no better than their father. Perhaps much worse. If he turned them away now, after all he had done, he doubted he would be able live with himself.</p><p>He was trapped in a place he didn't even have the will to escape.</p><p>"I promise."</p><p>He felt the crosshairs settle somewhere between his eyes.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy wasn't sure when he finally got to sleep, between his restless mind, the throbbing in his arm, and the whimpers and cries coming from across the hall, but when he finally did, it was disrupted all too soon.</p><p>
  <em>Because someone was in his room.</em>
</p><p>Half-formed memories played through his muddled mind of an Ishvalan soldier skulking into his tent, almost planting a knife in Hughes' chest before Roy's flame turned the assailant into ash.</p><p>He didn't notice the blond hair glinting in the moonlight before his glove was on his hand, fingers poised to snap.</p><p>The blind boy was frozen in the middle his room, wrapped in his blanket and clutching something cylindrical and white in his hand.</p><p>"Did I wake you up?" he asked softly, barely louder than a breeze but somehow deafening in the consuming silence. His blank eyes were wide, fixed somewhere at Roy's right.</p><p>Roy blinked at him. "Fullmetal, what are you doing?" he demanded, too tired to muster up the energy to be angry yet. He squinted at the analogue clock on his nightstand, trying to make out the numbers in the faint moonlight. "It's . . . <em>four in the morning."</em></p><p>Ed winced. "Sorry. I didn't know."</p><p>"What are you doing?" Roy asked again, eyes moving to regard the white object in Ed's hand. Sudden suspicion tugged at his groggy mind and he kicked back the covers, peeling off his glove and tossing it on the nightstand as he rose.</p><p>Ed's eyes widened as he heard Roy get up, his only hand tightening around the white thing. "It's nothing. Sorry to bother you." He started making a hasty retreat for the door, but despite it being hasty, it was definitely slowed by his broken automail. He made a near comical, frantic shuffle for the hallway, but Roy caught up to him easily, plucking Ed's prize from his surprised hand with ease. "Hey, give it back!" Ed ordered, blinding reaching for Roy's arm.</p><p>Roy brushed him aside, instead choosing to glare at the bottle in his hands. "Edward, do you have any idea what these are?"</p><p>Brief panic flashed across the boy's face before his features settled into something more annoyed. "It's none of your business, Mustang. They're <em>my</em> pills, they came from <em>my</em> bag, I can take them if I want!"</p><p>Roy fought back a deep, burning desire to slap the kid in the back of the head. There was a reason Roy kept Ed's prescriptions and other medical supplies in his own bathroom. He didn't trust Ed with them, and for good reason. The kid was <em>blind</em>, for goodness' sake!</p><p>"Did you take any of these?"</p><p>Ed ducked his head.</p><p>"Fullmetal, answer me," Roy commanded, his patience wearing thin. Four in the morning did that to him.</p><p>The boy muttered something.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Couldn't get the top off," he repeated in exasperation, waving his single hand as evidence before dropping it dejectedly at his side. Despite the faint light, Roy could see the blush heating his cheeks.</p><p>Roy struggled to hold on to the anger rippling in his belly, but it lost some of its momentum at the reminder of Ed's other limitations.</p><p>Wouldn't Roy be fighting for some control, too, if he were in Ed's place? If he couldn't see, could barely walk, and couldn't even get off a childproof lid without assistance?</p><p>"Edward, Alphonse already gave you all your pills before you went to bed."</p><p>Ed kept his head bowed. "I know."</p><p>"What were you going to do with these?"</p><p>Again, Ed answered with miserable silence.</p><p>Roy had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from Ed's own mouth. "Ed?"</p><p>The blond grimaced. "I was going to <em>take</em> them. What do you think I was going to do with them?"</p><p>"Any particular reason you think you need another round of antibiotics at this time in the morning?"</p><p>Roy watched as Ed's eyes widened, then a dark, frustrated look stole over his features. "I was aiming for the sleep aides."</p><p>That was odd. Normally Ed refused the sleep aids. He never really explained why, but Al had told Roy that it made it hard for him to wake up when he was having nightmares. After particular sleepless nights, Alphonse said he liked to slip him one mixed in with his other pills anyway, like Silas suggested. Just so he could get at least a little rest. That Ed was seeking them out voluntarily just went to show how desperate he was.</p><p>But Alphonse had already given him sleep aids for the night, and they weren't to be taken for another six hours, at least. What if he had just indiscriminately taken half the bottle in Roy's hand? Even if they were sleep aides and not antibiotics, he could still be dead!</p><p>Roy sighed. "Fullmetal, you can't just go picking up medication and trying to take it! You have no idea what you're grabbing or what dosage you need. It's dangerous!"</p><p>Ed's scowl remained firmly in place. "Al's downstairs. He thought I was asleep when he left, but I wasn't. I can't sleep knowing that . . ." his voice faltered. "With <em>her</em> coming tomorrow. You were asleep. It was the perfect time to . . ."</p><p>"To what?" Roy pressed.</p><p>Ed turned away. "I was going to try to find the sleep aides so I could sleep through tomorrow."</p><p>Roy suppressed a deep sigh. "Ed, you can't possibly—"</p><p>"I can't hurt her if I'm asleep! Besides, I knew if I asked you or Al, both of you would say no."</p><p>"You're right," Roy agreed. "The answer is no."</p><p>Something like fear lit on Ed's features. "Mustang, please . . . she'll be here <em>tomorrow</em>, and I <em>can't</em>. I can't live with myself if I hurt her. And I . . ." He paused, faltering as he struggled with his confession. "I don't want anyone to touch me. Especially in my ports." An involuntary shudder jolted his small body and Roy winced. "Mustang, can't you understand? I'll hurt her, or you, or anyone in my way . . ."</p><p>"I already promised you, Fullmetal," Roy reminded him, forcing some confidence into his voice. "I promised you I wouldn't let that happen."</p><p>When Ed saw he was still losing ground on the issue, he changed tactics from pleading to defiance. "And that worked out <em>so well</em> for you tonight," he bit back.</p><p>Roy pretended the jab didn't make him falter. He pressed his throbbing arm to his side at the reminder. "That was before. I'm prepared now."</p><p>"That's a load of crap, Mustang," Ed hissed. "You can't trust me. I'm dangerous. It'll only be safe if I'm asleep for the whole thing."</p><p>"You can't sleep through the whole thing," Roy said, trying to keep his own voice calm and reasonable. The last thing he needed at four in the morning was a riled up blind boy with post-traumatic stress disorder. "Don't you have to be awake for the connection?" He had once heard from Ed that you could never be put under during the connection because you had to make sure all of the nerves were lining up right. Arguably the most painful part was the one you had to be the most alert for.</p><p>"I could make do!" he insisted. He opened his mouth to say more, then stopped, frozen. A moment later, Roy could hear it, too; the metal clanging of Alphonse coming up the stairs.</p><p>Ed sighed, and with it, all the fire seemed to leave him. Roy noticed it was starting to become a pattern: Some of his old temper would come back in brief flashes, then die back down into something more resigned and subdued. It would take a while for the fire to come back.</p><p>However dangerous it might be, Roy found himself preferring the fire over the beaten boy standing before him now. His shoulders slumped, head bowing to show his defeat. Like he didn't have it in him to fight this battle anymore.</p><p>"Are you going to give me the pills, or not?" he asked softly as Alphonse reached the hallway.</p><p>"Edward, I can't possibly give you a large enough dosage that will last that long and be safe for you. Sleep aides don't knock you out, they just help you sleep. Besides, if we're going through all this trouble to get your arm working, it needs to be right, don't you think?"</p><p>Ed didn't look up, or even respond. He just sighed and began shuffling for the door, his whole body seeming to shrink in on itself. He looked so young and vulnerable and not like Edward at all.</p><p>He was getting close to bumping into the doorframe. Roy reached out to help but Ed recoiled under his hand and shrugged it off. "Leave me alone, Mustang," he ordered, voice flat. "Sorry to wake you."</p><p>
  <em>Why did he feel like he had just lost something important?</em>
</p><p>Alphonse appeared in the doorway, crimson eyes shining concern. "Brother? Why are you up?"</p><p>"No reason," Ed said, adjusting his course and following his brother's voice. "Just telling Colonel Idiot to stop snoring."</p><p>Alphonse allowed Ed to place his hand on his forearm and gently began to lead him away, throwing Roy one last questioning look before they disappeared from view.</p><p>Roy stood in the middle of his room, dressed only in his shorts and a rumpled shirt and holding a bottle of antibiotics. At four in the morning.</p><p>He wiped his hand down his tired face. He had been planning on going to the office early to get a few things accomplished before the Rockbell girl arrived, but a new priority had just clawed its way to the top of his list: more sleep. As much as possible before lunch.</p><p>Roy went to his bathroom and found it to be in a state of disarray from Ed's rummaging. He stepped over a mess of toiletries on the floor and only gave the bottle of spilled shampoo a weary glare before snagging Ed's upturned bag and shoving the bottle into its depths. He scooped up any other bottle he could find, his or Ed's, and piled it in as well. Then he went back to his bedside and shoved it all underneath his bed.</p><p>Without further ado, Roy collapsed back in bed and tried not to think about what tomorrow would be like.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy stared past the frozen breath curling from his lips as he searched the crowd, sharp eyes skipping from one blonde head to another.</p><p>The Central train station was a jumble of activity at this time of day. Trains whistled and puffed through the station like clockwork, loading and unloading passengers and cargo at every quarter hour. The station was packed with all walks of humanity, some leaving family in tearful farewells, some coming home to joyful reunions. Others slipped through the station without much fuss, business men shuffling on and off trains, forced along on a tide of vacationers and sight-seers with too much luggage and too many children. Steam filled the air from the trains and from the chatter of freezing pedestrians and Roy clutched his black overcoat tighter around him.</p><p>He <em>hated</em> the cold.</p><p>Despite the glass ceiling and the heat off the coal trains and his many layers of clothing, Roy had already begun to lose feeling in his fingers and toes, the nip of winter slowly chasing the blood from them.</p><p>Just as Roy was about to give into temptation and wait in his car, he spied a shock of blonde hair moving steadily his way through the sea of humanity. Roy tracked the movement, and soon Winry Rockbell emerged through the crowd.</p><p>Roy had only met the girl a few times, but if he were any judge, it seemed as if she had grown a couple of inches since the last time he had seen her. Her pale skin was burned pink in the frigid wind, and her sunny hair and ragged scarf whipped around her head like some sort of possessed spirit. He knew she was thin, with only a hint of curves starting the show on her girlish frame, but her shape could have been anyone's guess underneath the large lavender coat engulfing her. She was lugging two heavy-looking suitcases with her, the strain of them obvious on her tightened features.</p><p>He was just about to call out for her when her blue eyes locked on him and flashed with recognition. She offered him a thin smile and made her way to him. "Colonel Mustang," she greeted, voice warmer than the air that carried it, though not by too much.</p><p>Roy had never gotten along too well with the girl. He suspected it had something to do with the way he had shown up when Edward and Alphonse were at their lowest and, as she probably viewed it, whisked them away from her. She seemed pleasant enough now, though a bit reserved.</p><p>Winry peered behind him, then all around, a frown slowly drawing her pale brows together. "Where are those two delinquents?"</p><p>A small smile tugged at Roy's lips. "That's why I'm here."</p><p>Sudden fear lit in her eyes, a look that was as much knowing as it was denying. Roy had seen it often enough on the faces of loved ones when their children went off to war; It was the look of those that were left behind to wait. "What's wrong?"</p><p>He sighed, his breath leaving in a cloud. "I'll explain in the car." He reached forward and took her bags, nearly dropping them as she relinquished their full weight to his numb fingers. How did such a small girl carry this? It weighted a ton!</p><p>"Pack for a long stay?" he asked, his voice strained as he tried to balance the weight.</p><p>Winry smirked at him in a triumphant sort of way that irritated him for some reason. "Not really, I only have two days to get back and help Granny, but Al said Ed's automail is a wreck." Her smile slid off her face and her eyes became distant, as if he wasn't a part of the conversation anymore. "That idiot doesn't take care of his automail at all! He reads all the time, but he didn't even <em>glance</em> at the operation manual, and then he does his stupid alchemy on it and turns my beautiful work into some kind of spear and I <em>swear</em>, he can't keep himself from getting hurt!"</p><p>Roy had heard the building worry in her voice, slipping underneath her words in a subtle stream, a blatant contradiction to her annoyed speech.</p><p>As if catching herself, she blinked, then glanced up at him, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I just . . . worry about them, I guess." Her voice was suddenly stiff. "Why are you here, anyway?" she asked quickly, looking around as if searching for someone else. "Usually it's Mister Armstrong that meets me at the train station when those two morons can't."</p><p>"That's what I need to talk to you about," he said, gesturing to his car and ignoring her concerned look. He loaded the suitcases in the trunk and opened the passenger door for the girl before climbing in himself. He quickly started the engine, grimacing at the cool air that pumped through the vents. He had splurged to buy one of those fancy new cars with the fancy new heaters, and they took six blocks to warm up!</p><p>"So are you going to tell me what this is all about?" she asked warily, eying him the way seals eye shark-infested waters.</p><p>He sighed, feeling the weight of the past few months settle around his shoulders. He had rehearsed this all morning, and now had no idea how to tell her.</p><p>"Colonel?"</p><p>"Tell me about the last time you heard from Ed."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed had always paced when he was nervous. When his mind was racing a mile a minute, it was like his body felt the need to keep up, and the urge to move was not one that could be easily stifled.</p><p>But even that small luxury was denied him. He sat on Mustang's couch, hand curled around Alphonse's knee and Alphonse's broad hand on his shoulder. He shifted, bouncing his real leg up and down, leaning up and back, curling his body underneath the blanket and straightening it. His skin was cold and clammy from sweat, but his face seemed to be burning up, and he felt that horrible, sick feeling as if his stomach were about to heave what little was in it all over the floor.</p><p>He had heard the car pull up outside a while ago now. Or at least it seemed a while ago . . . his sense of time wasn't very accurate anymore, but he knew why they were sitting out there, waiting. He knew exactly what they were waiting for.</p><p>Mustang would have told her everything, or at least everything he could. And Winry would be trying to stop crying.</p><p>Ed had tried all morning to keep his mouth shut in front of Alphonse, but as his fear grew, his need to confess did as well. He wanted to tell Al how scared he was, how much he didn't want her to see him this way. He wanted to beg his brother to take him away, or to tell Winry he was fine and to go home. Anything to avoid this.</p><p>But no matter what he said, this wouldn't go away and anything he had to say would just make his brother feel worse than he probably already did. Alphonse was suffering just as much if not more than Ed was, watching the head of their small, broken family turn into a crippled wreck. Ed bit his tongue and tried to be strong for Al, but strength was something that had fled him months ago. He found himself shaking, the conflict between what he wanted to do and what he needed do breaking him apart from the inside out. He drew in shuddering breathes as his body fought a wave of adrenaline, and finally he couldn't stand it.</p><p>"I can't do this, Al," Ed finally whispered, voice catching. She was the only one left, the only one he could still protect, if she just stayed away. If she saw him, she would know, and there would be no one left to pretend for. He wouldn't be able to lie to himself anymore. "Please just tell her to leave, Al, <em>please</em>."</p><p>He heard Al shift beside him and felt the huge gauntlet on his empty shoulder port move, wrapping around his thin body in a protective, supportive embrace. He leaned into it, allowing his body to conform against the hard metal suit, feeling the pulse of his brother's soul, strong and steady. "I'm here, Brother," he said, his sweet voice calm over a barely detectable tension. He was nervous, too. "I won't let anything happen. I promise."</p><p>He didn't understand. No one knew him as well as Alphonse, and even <em>he</em> didn't understand.</p><p>A sudden, terrible sense of isolation threatened to smother him.</p><p>Edward screwed his eyes shut and released a tight breath, then caught himself and hoped Alphonse didn't feel it. He hated how Al had to comfort him when Ed was supposed to be the one reassuring his little brother. He was supposed to be the big brother, strong and protective and infallible. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be this pathetic.</p><p>And now Winry would know, too.</p><p>He heard the car doors open and shut.</p><p>His heart jumped into his throat.</p><p>Ed suddenly got to his feet, staggering a bit as balance evaded him and his only arm flew out to steady himself on the coffee table.</p><p>"Brother, where are you going?!" Al asked, surprise pitching his voice an octave too high, armor clanking as he rose, too.</p><p>Ed clutched his blanket to him and stumbled to the other side of the table as quickly as he could. It wasn't very fast, but at least Al didn't catch up to stop him and he didn't fall down. He swept his hand out in front of him like some kind of radar, wincing when it finally smacked into the banister. He latched on and began dragging himself up the stairs as fast as his warped automail would allow.</p><p>
  <em>You're such a coward.</em>
</p><p>"Brother, stop! Where are you going?" Al asked again, this time not far behind. Ed had surprised him, but it wouldn't be another few seconds before Al caught up and stopped him.</p><p>He heard keys fumbling at the front door.</p><p>Ed made it to the landing, Al's armor creaking just a few feet behind him and the door opened downstairs. "Boys?" Mustang called, the way he did after coming home from work. Like this was an ordinary day and not the end of all that was Edward Elric.</p><p>Ed skipped the first bedroom, then hurled himself into the open bathroom and locked the door behind him.</p><p>"Brother! What are you doing?" Al asked, his voice muffled by the door and carrying an edge of panic to it. A heavy leather gauntlet thumped against the door. "Open the door!"</p><p>Ed backed up, feeling the fluffy bath rug under his bare foot, then heard his automail clack against the cold tile as his back hit the wall. He reached to the side, his one arm clasping the porcelain side of the bathtub. The door kept pounding and Alphonse kept pleading, but Ed made no move to open it.</p><p>Maybe if he just took a few minutes . . . maybe if it was on his own terms, he could compose himself. Maybe he wouldn't feel so much like his world was spinning out of his control; like a boat in a storm, helplessly being driven to crash against the rocks.</p><p>Maybe if he really focused, he could be strong for Winry. If he were strong enough, he wouldn't have a flashback, and he wouldn't hurt her, and he could protect her from the mess he had become.</p><p>Then he could keep lying to himself. He could keep telling himself that everything would be okay.</p><p>Ed crawled into the tub, the cool walls soothing against his feverish skin. It was like pressing his cheek against Al's metal suit, except he didn't have to pretend to hide how his frail body shook. He curled up, pulling the blanket tighter around him and focused on his breathing, trying to center his spinning thoughts that threatened to make him sick with fear and shame.</p><p>
  <em>In and out.</em>
</p><p>He could hear Mustang outside, then the shrill squeak of Winry's panicked voice.</p><p>He redoubled his efforts to tune them out, focusing on his warm breath bouncing from the smooth surface before him and back to his face.</p><p>If he could stop this drowning feeling, maybe he could do it.</p><p>
  <em>In and out. </em>
</p><p>More voices, sounding even farther away.</p><p>Good. Just think about nothing important. Just like in the basement. He would make his mind blank until even pain didn't hurt anymore. Like Teacher taught him.</p><p>The fear started to ebb, the roar being tamed into a quiet buzz. He could do this, if he just kept breathing.</p><p>
  <em>In and out. In and out. In and out.</em>
</p><p>A shrill whine, accompanied by the scent of ozone, pierced through the room, shattering his concentration. The fragile peace he had found shook, then broke into a thousand pieces. He startled badly, barely catching a surprised whimper before it got past his lips.</p><p>Alchemy destroyed the lock and the door opened. Heavy footsteps approached, and Ed tried to bury his head under the blanket. He gasped a little at the touch on his side, flinching away as if from a burn. "Please go away," he begged, so quiet he wasn't sure if he could be heard. His voice shook and he swallowed thickly. It was bad enough his words were pathetic without his voice sounding so painfully weak, too.</p><p>He smelled Mustang's rich aftershave, then heard him move, telling Al and probably Winry to meet him downstairs. Then the door shut and he was left alone with Mustang in the small bathroom.</p><p>Mustang settled on the floor beside the bathtub, but Edward kept the blanket over his head and faced the wall. He didn't want to talk about it. Words wouldn't fix this, and Mustang had already told him he would deny him the small comfort of sleep aides. He had nothing left to talk about.</p><p>The sense of betrayal Mustang's presence brought suddenly made him feel hollowed and angry. He clung to the emotion, letting it cover his fear like a bandage on a bleeding wound. It was comforting in and of itself to feel fire burning through his veins instead of icy dread. Just last night Mustang had asked him to trust him, but here he was, forcing him into meeting Winry when he was far from ready. Mustang didn't care. He would do anything to get Ed mobile and out of his way. He would be happier once Ed was gone. He didn't want this. Who could possibly want to put up with a crippled, blind, foul-tempered teenager?</p><p>"What are you doing in here, Ed?" Mustang asked over him, disapproval and weariness tainting his voice.</p><p>"I didn't come in here to talk, in case you missed the way the door was <em>shut</em> and <em>locked</em>."</p><p>"I gathered that much," he said wryly. "But why . . . wait, are you hiding?"</p><p>Ed let his sullen silence answer for him.</p><p>Mustang took a deep breath and sighed. When next he spoke, his voice was sickeningly gentle in a way that made what was left of Ed's pride bristle. "Are you really that scared, Ed?"</p><p>"Why, is that not allowed?" he asked, not bothering to keep the disdain from his voice. "Sorry if I'm not 'brave' enough for you, <em>Colonel</em>." He spat the title like a curse. "It's not like I asked for this. I didn't ask for any of this, so you can keep your stupid comments to yourself!"</p><p>"That's not what I—"</p><p>"Just shut up!" Ed shouted, curling tighter around himself. There was a time when he would be up and jumping as he yelled at his stupid superior and maybe even threw a punch at him, if he got angry enough, but those days were gone. Mustang could outmaneuver him to a pathetic degree, like a cat batting around injured prey. "I don't want to hear it, Mustang! I'm tired of it! I'm sick of being here with you breathing down my neck and acting like you actually give a crap about me and Al. What's with the whole charade, huh? Is Hawkeye making you do it? Because I don't need your help! I don't <em>want</em> it!"</p><p>If Ed had stopped to think, he would realize he was pushing Mustang to do what terrified him most of all. But he was angry, and he never said what he meant to when he was angry, and he just wanted Mustang to leave him alone and stop staring at him the way you look at hopeless cripples and the terminally ill. All of that nauseating pity made his gut turn.</p><p>That's how everyone looked at him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. He had felt it every day in the hospital, and he had felt it every day since. He already hated himself enough without being ashamed and humiliated that he was some kind of a walking complex.</p><p>The silence Edward had thought he wanted turned out to be deafening. All he could hear were Mustang's breathes moving in and out and his own nervous pulse echoing through the porcelain tub.</p><p>"So," Mustang began, his deep voice careful but firm. "You didn't deny that you're scared."</p><p>Edward ground his teeth. What was the point of this?! Was he trying to belittle him? Rub it in his face that he was cowering in the bathroom like a toddler hiding from imaginary monsters? The cruelty of it made Ed's eyes sting with hot tears that he quickly blinked away.</p><p>It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault he was like this now.</p><p>Maybe if he told that to himself enough, he would start to believe it.</p><p>They used to ask him if he was scared. The leader, the one he saw the most with the salt-and-pepper beard and the dark, malicious eyes used to ask him in his accented voice if he was scared yet. Before they took his sight, he'd defiantly answered no and they'd hit him and stabbed him and electrocuted him until he was a gibbering, weeping wreck, but he would still scream that he wasn't afraid. Not of them. The man promised he would be soon.</p><p>After his eyes were gone, he couldn't summon the courage to answer at all.</p><p>They hit him anyways.</p><p>The man laughed a rough, grating sound, like ice against stone. It was a terrible, humiliating sound and Ed tried to curl in on himself, trying to block out the awful screech of it . . .</p><p>"Ed, stay with me," Mustang said.</p><p>Ed flinched as if struck, the sound of the Colonel's voice jolting him back from his drifting thoughts. But it had been his fault that his mind was wondering in the first place! "Why are you still here? I told you to leave!"</p><p>"No," Mustang said simply. "I'm not leaving you alone like this."</p><p>"Like <em>what</em>?"</p><p>"No one should have to be alone when they're scared, Fullmetal."</p><p>Honestly?</p><p>He tried to choke it down, but his body started to shake, his stomach convulsing and shoulders quivering until a hysteric laugh forced its way past his lips. It sounded harsh and foreign, even to his own ears, and had a touch of madness to it that made him laugh all the more. His weakened body quickly started to ache from the simple strain of it and he had to slow his guffaws into quiet chuckles, but he couldn't keep the derisive smile off his cracked lips. He hadn't laughed like that in months, sanely or otherwise.</p><p>"Edward?" Mustang asked, sounding uncertain and a bit worried. It was about time the idiot figured out he was out of his league on this one.</p><p>What a load of crap! Not alone when he was scared . . . He had spent the past three months alone and scared. The only difference Mustang would make would be someone there to witness him trying to hold his mind together as he unraveled at the seams.</p><p>Ed found the irony of it all terribly funny.</p><p>Maybe that was proof he was losing his mind.</p><p>He didn't realize his laugh had turned into sobs until he felt hot tears running down his face. He furiously swiped at them with the corner of the blanket, but more appeared in their place and he couldn't stop them. His body began to tremble anew, and as much as he tried to stop it he was powerless. Too much had happened. His body hurt, his mind hurt and his soul hurt the most of all and he couldn't slow down the stupid tears.</p><p>He had always tried so hard to keep himself from crying, and now he couldn't seem to stop.</p><p>Strong hands reached into the bath around him, slowly, gently hooking under his knees and around his shoulders. He could only gasp in protest as Mustang picked him up from his resting place, settling on the floor and pulling him into his lap like he was a little kid. Ed didn't have it in him to fight it as Mustang tucked his head under his jaw and held him close as he wept, his tears soaking the front of the older man's jacket and his body convulsing with tight sobs.</p><p>If Ed were being honest with himself, it didn't feel so bad to be held by hands that didn't try to hurt him. Now that he was pressed to the older man's chest, he found the he craved the closeness, the security of having strong, familiar arms around him. It helped ease the ache of isolation, a sensation that had become so pervasive and so normal that he usually forgot it was there altogether. Like the way he never seemed to notice he was famished until food was placed before him, his body so used to starvation that it didn't feel the need to remind him anymore. His soul was used to being trapped alone in the darkness.</p><p>But more than that, Ed felt <em>safe</em>. He felt that no matter what nightmares or hallucinations tried to tear him from reality, Mustang's firm embrace would hold them at bay.</p><p>So he held onto Mustang and wept. He wasn't sure how long they stayed there, but it had to have been a good while. He stopped crying a few times. His tears would finally slow, then he would listen to Mustang's heartbeat under his right ear and sniffle and start sobbing again with renewed despair as he was reminded again how after this, nothing would ever be the same.</p><p>This was how it was going to be. He would be blind the rest of his life. Blind and scared, and Al would be stuck in that suit, Winry would lose all faith in him, and everyone he had ever admired would look at him like a useless cripple. One by one they would leave, and he would be alone and he would deserve it.</p><p>But Mustang was still here, holding him like his own child. He'd been here through all of it.</p><p>"Why, Mustang?" he whispered.</p><p>"Hmm?" Mustang's deep voice vibrated in his chest under Ed's cheek, somehow soothing.</p><p>"Why are you helping me?" he asked, trying hard to make his voice stop shaking as more tears slid down his face. His hand fisted Mustang's lapel in an attempt to stop its trembling. "It doesn't make sense. You don't owe me anything. I'm not even your subordinate anymore. I don't have anything to give you and I'm less than useless. I say all kinds of awful things to you and bite you and keep you awake at night with all my stupid screaming. I'm more trouble than I'm worth."</p><p>Mustang sighed against him, his breath ruffling Ed's hair. "You're an idiot, Ed," he said, and Ed could hear the smile in his voice. "For all your talk of being a genius, you don't have a clue. Guess I'll have to spell it out for you, huh?"</p><p>Ed didn't feel the need to dignify that with a response.</p><p>"I told you I'd help you get through this. I told you I wasn't going anywhere."</p><p>"That's not a reason," Ed muttered.</p><p>He felt Mustang's chin move as he probably smirked. "No, that's not a reason. The reason is, whether you're still in the military or not, you're still one of mine. I look out for my own, Fullmetal. So, whether you like it or not, I'm going to be here, pushing you and dragging you if I have to. Whatever it takes to get you through this."</p><p>Could that be true? Was it really that simple? Would Mustang really let him stay, just like that?</p><p>
  <em>He wouldn't leave . . .?</em>
</p><p>Ed wasn't sure if it was discernment or desperation, but he <em>needed</em> to believe that. He needed it so badly it hurt deep in his chest and made the notion of rejecting it impossible. He was tired, so tired of being afraid and alone.</p><p>It had to be true, or Ed knew deep in his soul that what was left of him would break.</p><p>So whether it was wise or not, whether it was true or not, Ed let himself believe. He let himself be relieved and warm and safe, because the alternative was unbearable, and it was so nice to tell himself that he could depend on Mustang.</p><p>So he believed.</p><p>He ignored the tiny, trepid voice in the back of his mind that told him how painful it would be the day Mustang stabbed him in the back.</p><p>A consuming sense of relief flooded him, filling a deep, dark void he hadn't realized was there until it was practically gone. It felt good to trust Mustang. It felt right, like there was a real, actual chance Mustang could somehow make this turn out alright.</p><p>A weak laugh that sounded more like another sob escaped Ed's lips and, despite his reservations, he clung to Mustang's lapel even tighter, as if he could banish the feeling altogether by force of will. "Another one of your stupid pep talks, Mustang?"</p><p>"I'll give you one every hour, if I have to."</p><p>Ed took a steadying breath. If what Mustang said was true, he had been such a jerk. Mustang had taken care of him when he wasn't much more than a rabid animal, and now here he was, cradling him on the bathroom floor while he sobbed and carried on like a deranged idiot, and all he had gotten for his troubles was Ed's temper. "Sorry. About what I said before . . . I mean—"</p><p>"Forget it."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Apologies were never your strong suite, Fullmetal," Mustang said with a smile in his voice. "Besides, I think you're entitled to be a little angry, after everything you've been through."</p><p>How could he just think that? How could he be so forgiving? Ed shook his head. Mustang had to be missing something. "Maybe at . . . at <em>those</em> people, but not at you or Al. You don't . . . you shouldn't . . ." Ed gritted his teeth in frustration as the words refused to come.</p><p>Mustang made a faintly amused sound. "Apology accepted."</p><p>Just like that? Ed almost melted in relief at those two simple words, but something held him back. He couldn't be sure. He heard his voice, but the Colonel was a good liar, and without Mustang's eyes, Ed couldn't tell if he was being altogether truthful.</p><p>He couldn't tell if the trust he had just desperately forced out of himself was misplaced.</p><p>
  <em>Ignore it.</em>
</p><p>They sat there in quietness, broken only by their breathing and steady heartbeats. Ed became suddenly self-conscious, curled up in the lap of his former superior like some kind of child. Mustang might just be helping out of some illogical sense of obligation. Why would he want to be there? How could he not be upset, after all the things Ed put him through? Ed thought about getting up, but wasn't sure if he could manage it on his own.</p><p>"Think you're ready?" Mustang finally asked.</p><p>Ed flinched, his response coming slow and unsteady. "I don't think I can do it, Colonel."</p><p>"I think you can."</p><p>Ed's fingers tightened around Mustang's coat, momentarily not caring how pathetic it made him look. Mustang thought he could do it? "How do you know?"</p><p>Mustang made another amused snort. "Ed, you've taken on homunculi, murderers, soldiers and Hawkeye when her chocolate stash runs dry. I think you can handle a little automail tune-up, don't you think?"</p><p>A weak laugh shook his frame and a few lingering tears squeezed past his eyes. "Like you'd know anything, jerk."</p><p>"I know enough not to be a big sissy about it," Mustang said, the smirk in his voice something so solid, Ed could almost see it. Mustang was letting him know that they were okay. They may not have been good, but they were okay. For now, okay was good enough for Ed. "You've done it a hundred times. What's one more?"</p><p>Ed relaxed just a bit, the familiar banter taking the edge off of his fears. "Easy for you to say. Automail hurts like crap."</p><p>"All I hear is whining," Mustang said, removing an arm from around him and wrapping it under his elbow. Ed let the older man help pull them both to their feet. Edward swayed dangerously, but Mustang didn't let him fall, pulling him close and holding steady. "Let's go say hi to Winry."</p><p>And Ed started walking, because he decided he trusted Mustang.</p><p>Mustang carefully led Ed out of the bathroom and to the stairs. Ed allowed himself to be pulled along, but his anxiety returned, slowly building with each step. It felt like the longest walk of his life, like he was a condemned man walking to the gallows.</p><p>When Winry saw him, it would be over.</p><p>"There's nothing to be afraid of," Mustang murmured gently, as if reading his mind.</p><p>"What if . . . I mean, she's upset, isn't she? What is she going to think when she actually <em>sees</em> this?" Ed asked, feeling his voice waver like his mismatched steps.</p><p>Mustang just held him tighter, pulling him even closer as if he could lend Ed his own strength. "If Miss Rockbell is anything like the way you and Alphonse have described, she won't think any less of you. I promise."</p><p>"How do you know?" Ed asked, unable to stop the sad little question before it could leave his lips.</p><p>"Have a little faith in people, will you?" he said with another one of those soft smiles in his voice. It didn't feel quite so patronizing this time.</p><p>They stopped at the stairs and Ed let Mustang guide him down. He heard hushed voices in the kitchen, but couldn't make out any words over the faltering whirl in his damaged automail and their muffled steps.</p><p>"Is she upset?" Ed asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it all the same.</p><p>"One of her closest friends is hurt. Of course she's upset," Mustang said in the same tone he told Ed that of course formal attire was required, or of course he wasn't allowed to blow up half the city to find a petty thief. "Why wouldn't she be?"</p><p>Ed didn't respond to that. He had to stop talking and instead start forcing one step in front of the other. It was difficult enough to move his left leg when he wanted to, but it seemed the automail picked up on his hesitation, and now it was barely bending at all. He had to swing it out ahead of him from his hip, the effort of it exhausting him physically the same way his worry exhausted him emotionally. Even his real leg didn't cooperate, shaking so badly he was sure he would topple over if Mustang weren't holding onto him.</p><p>They reached the bottom of the stairs and began to cross the living room. The voices grew louder.</p><p>Ed's quivering hand grabbed a handful of Mustang's sleeve.</p><p>He knew when they rounded the corner. It was evident because two voices gave a soft, collective gasp and all sound stopped. Mustang brought them to a halt, and Ed wondered why they had to stop there. He didn't know where Alphonse was. When he stopped moving, his metal body was impossible to find by sound alone. He thought he heard faint breathing not far in front of him, but that could have been his pulse pounding in his ears.</p><p>The silence stretched on and Ed tried not to hyperventilate. Where were they? What was everyone waiting on? Was he supposed to say something?</p><p>She was probably speechless from the sight of him. He hadn't gotten a look at himself in months, but he could imagine; hopelessly thin, wasting body, bleached eyes and pale, papery skin with more bruises and lacerations than he could possibly count and a haunted visage that he couldn't wipe away. He probably looked like a beaten skeleton in a skin suit, more wraith than human.</p><p>He let go of his steadying hold on Mustang and clutched his blanket tighter around him, a vain effort to hide his shriveled body and his shaking knees.</p><p>
  <em>Would no one say anything?</em>
</p><p>Tentative footsteps shuffled right in front of him. He froze, listening.</p><p>Then he smelled it: sunshine and clean air and citrus. He smelled his childhood, when everything was perfect and he and Al and Winry played outside all day, running through the fields and swimming in the lake until the sun had set and the day ended, only to start again the next morning. He smelled summer and grass and freedom and peace, like stepping out of this nightmare and into a wonderful dream.</p><p>Winry smelled like home.</p><p>"Edward?" came her hushed, sweet voice, and suddenly he couldn't breathe anymore. It was sad and watery, the way she sounded after she cried, but there was something else. There was a fear there that he only ever heard a few times and he hated the sound of it. Like she was afraid he wouldn't recognize her, afraid he had forgotten and would cower from her because he couldn't see her. She was asking permission and reassurance at the same time.</p><p>But Ed knew her. Even without eyes, he would know her voice and her scent anywhere.</p><p>It took him a few tries, but he finally found his voice. "Win . . . ry . . ."</p><p>"Oh, Ed!" she cried, and Mustang released him just in time for him to be caught in a tight embrace. He almost fell over, but Winry's thin arms wrapped around his shoulders, steadying him as he instinctively snaked his arm underneath hers.</p><p>Her body was soft and warm against him, feeling like home and heaven all at once. He buried his head in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, losing himself in warm memories. He felt like if he closed his eyes tight enough, he would be back in Resembool, holding her in the Rockbell living room, and Al would playfully be telling him not to hog all of Winry's attention, and Granny Pinako would be making lunch with Den barking outside, and when he opened his eyes, he would see her face and she would ask what had gotten into him and make fun of him for being stupid and everything would be right.</p><p>She breathed raggedly into the crook of his neck and started crying.</p><p>"Oh, no, Winry, don't cry," he begged, patting her back in what he hoped was a soothing way. "It's okay, Winry. It's okay."</p><p>She suddenly went ridged against him. "How . . . how can you say that?!" she demanded, voice thick and muffled but her tone all too clear. She sounded like she wanted to yell at his face, but she didn't let go of him. "It's not okay, Ed, it's not okay at all! Why didn't you call?! Why didn't you tell me, you big idiot!" If it were possible, she clung even tighter to him. Ed's sensitive ribs protested sharply at the abuse, but he ignored them. This was too important.</p><p>"I don't know," he answered. "I don't know, and I'm sorry." Her body shook more than his and he fought to keep his balance.</p><p>It seemed like his apology gave her pause, though, because slowly, she calmed. Her breathing gradually evened out, and soon she was just holding him the same way he was holding her, her silent tears leaving cooling tracks down his neck to mix with his own.</p><p>When he opened his eyes, he didn't see Resembool.</p><p>Strange enough, something about it still felt like home.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>Warning</strong>
  </em>
  <em>: This chapter gets a bit . . . violent, I suppose is the word. Just a warning. Carry on.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Roy decided that there was something different about Ed.</p><p>He was sitting on the couch, his usual spot when he wasn't in his room or on the kitchen counter. He was now short both automail limbs as he leaned against Alphonse's side, but that wasn't what had Roy's attention as he watched him carefully throughout the day.</p><p>He was still exhausted, still thin. His body still looked injured and his damaged eyes still looked haunted, but it was muted, somehow. It was as if there was a light there, a glow that Roy hadn't seen in months and was almost too afraid to at look too closely in case it faded, like catching the glimmer of a falling star out of the corner of your eye, then turning to find it gone.</p><p>No doubt it had to do with the girl that was currently hard at work in his basement, slaving away over Ed's automail. Roy had seen the look on Ed's face as he held her. He had seen the peace that suddenly stole across his visage as both of them cried and comforted each other. Perhaps Winry coming was the best thing that could have happened to him.</p><p>Now if only his little brother weren't leaving in just a few short days . . .</p><p>"Read that last line again," Ed said, brow furrowed in concentration and his flesh fingers lightly drumming Al's leg. Roy wasn't sure if it was thoughtless movement or an absentminded attempt to constantly remind himself of where he was. Regardless, it was refreshing to see Ed taking a little interest in something again.</p><p>Alphonse turned his ruby gaze back to the text in his hands. He began to read something about Bosonic particles or something of that nature and Roy turned back to his own reports he had spread about the coffee table. He had the rest of the day off, and more paperwork than he could wrangle into submission in a reasonable time. His days in the office had been divided between keeping up with day-to-day tasks and his investigation into Ed's case, one that the higher-ups seemed both unsympathetic and indifferent to. His team was doing all they could to help keep him from drowning under the flood of work, but even Hawkeye had her limits, and with a sudden influx of other work from upstairs coming down the chutes, it was all they could do to stay afloat.</p><p>He wasn't sure why, but something about it made Mustang's instincts twinge in a foreboding sort of way.</p><p>"Mustang!" Ed snapped.</p><p>Roy blinked, turning to face the blind boy. He was looking in his general direction with an annoyed expression on his pale face. "What?"</p><p>Ed was practically rolling his eyes. "I said that Winry's calling you! You falling asleep over there, old man?"</p><p>"Maybe all of your talk about particles and matter is boring me to death," Roy countered, placing the page in his hands on a stack of files and getting to his feet.</p><p>"Not my fault that you're an uneducated moron," Ed shot back, though there was something forced about his irritation. Probably trying to save a bit of face from the incident in the bathroom earlier that afternoon.</p><p>"Says the one that tried to use his toothbrush as a hair comb this morning."</p><p>"Hey!" Ed shouted indignantly. "I'm <em>blind!</em> You can't make jokes like that!"</p><p>"Of course I can, since the two aren't even close to the same size. Toothbrush handles are a lot smaller, much like a certain blond brat I know."</p><p>Ed ground his teeth together, and his words coming out deceptively low and gnarled by his fury. "Get over here, Mustang, so I can <em>break your face with my foot."</em></p><p>"No thank you, I believe you said Winry needed me," Mustang said, smirking broadly as he turned and headed for the basement, listening to Ed's strangled threats and curses and Alphonse's gentle laugh as he did.</p><p>His basement was nothing spectacular. It was a small room with wood paneled walls and floors covered in mismatched rugs to help the small radiator keep some of the cold at bay. It was a musty, dark area, the only light coming from a bare bulb dangling from the low ceiling and the lamp at his desk. Shelves lined the back wall behind the stairs holding jars filled with chemicals and other raw materials, while the walls around his desk were devoted to his many books and journals.</p><p>A long table and workbench were set up in the back of the room opposite his desk, where Winry was laboring under a bright work lamp. The table was scattered with scraps of metal, wires, tools and other items Roy could not identify a function for. In the midst of it, Ed's arm was being disassembled, cleaned, repaired, modified, and put back together with the girl's swift, accurate hands. She was currently staring through a magnifying glass mounted to the side of his table and using a small bladed tool to strip the casing from a wire.</p><p>"About time," she muttered irritably as he approached, making quick work of the wire and setting it aside. "I've been calling you for the past five minutes."</p><p>Roy opted to ignore her tone of voice. Winry disliked him enough as is without him throwing fuel on that particular fire. "Did you need something?" he asked instead, positioning himself at the opposite end of the table.</p><p>Winry put down the blade in her hand and pulled the arm on the table closer to her. It looked almost skeletal, stripped of its outer plating and its insides laid bare. It was nothing but supports and levers wrapped in colorful tubes and wires, oil leaking slowly from something in the elbow joint to add its own mark on the motley collection already staining the table. Without Edward attached to it, Roy couldn't help but think it seemed rather unimpressive, much like the handicapped teenager that sat on the couch upstairs, small and almost insipid without all of his limbs . . .</p><p>"I dialed back the power and I'll be replacing the plating with a lighter alloy, since he's . . . since he's so thin now." Her voice caught, but she cleared her throat, keeping her swollen eyes carefully glued to the prosthetic in front of her as she carried on in short, clipped tones,. "I'll do the same with his leg. The lighter weight will be easier on his body until he can put some weight back on."</p><p>She flipped the device over, pointing to a small white button on the back of the 'bicep' that gleamed new against the scarred metal it sat on. "Here's the failsafe you asked for. I installed a rubber stopper where the wires connect with nerves, so if you hold it down, the rubber will slide into place and interrupt the signals from his brain to his automail, essentially shutting it down until someone goes in there with a screwdriver and resets it here," she lifted a plate and pointed out a screw amidst a bunch of copper wires.</p><p>Roy nodded, filing away the information. "That will do nicely, thank you, Miss Rockbell."</p><p>Winry frowned, staring at the arm as if it were a serpent. "I'm not sure about this, Colonel. I don't like going behind Ed's back on this."</p><p>Roy studied her for a moment. Her eyes were still bloodshot, as if during the hours she'd been down there she'd spent much of it crying, and her jaw was tense, the way Hawkeye's got when she was under a great deal of stress and doing all in her power to hold it together. She was just a little girl, and it wasn't fair for all of this to be sprung on her when she wasn't expecting it. "It's for his safety as much as everyone else's," he assured her gently. "I told you about his flashbacks. Sometimes things get out of hand."</p><p>She looked at him, her sky blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is that what happened there?" she asked, nodding to his arm. He followed her gaze to see a strip of bandage peeking out from under his rolled sleeve.</p><p>Roy carefully stuffed it back under his cuff, expertly hiding a grimace as his fingers grazed the swollen flesh. "Like I said. Out of hand."</p><p>Winry glared at him a few moments longer before turning back to her work, picking up a pair of forceps to pull at one of the copper wires in the forearm. "I think Ed might be better off if he came home."</p><p>Roy wasn't sure why, but the comment made his whole body stiffen, the hairs on his neck raising as if in response to an actual threat. He forced his hands to unclench at his sides and took a deep, calming breath. She gave him a curious glance, but he ignored it in favor of keeping his cool. "I don't think that's wise," he said, his voice ridged and terse. He cleared his throat, purposely banishing the irrational anger from it. "Ed doesn't respond well to changes in environment. We figured that out firsthand."</p><p>"Home isn't a change in environment," Winry pointed out, anger lurking just under the fragile tension in her voice. It somehow reminded Roy of Edward, the way he barely contained his displeasure when given orders he didn't like. "Did you even give him a choice before you dragged him to your house?"</p><p>Roy struggled to keep his own voice calm. What was this girl implying? That he kidnapped them or something? "Certainly. He and Alphonse both agreed that this was their best course of action, for the moment. I'm sure once Ed is better, they'll both be on their way." Roy only smudged the facts a bit, thought he did carefully omit the part about Alphonse leaving. The last thing he wanted to do was hand his opponent ammunition. "Besides, Ed needs the care of specialized health professionals right now. The likes of which are not common on Resembool."</p><p>She whirled on him, a wrench suddenly clenched in her fist. "Are you saying I can't do the job?" she demanded. "I've been taking care of those two for <em>years.</em> I think I can handle it!"</p><p>Roy would be hard pressed to admit it, but it took some effort on his part not to take a step back from her. Something about this girl was almost as intimidating as Hawkeye when she was irked. He decided that those two should stay as far away from each other as possible. "Miss Rockbell, I don't think we're on the same page—"</p><p>"We certainly are <em>not!"</em> she hissed, striking the wrench against the table for emphasis and sending a few loose bolts and screws bouncing to the ground like metallic rain.</p><p>"I'm talking about mental health professionals, Miss Rockbell," he said quickly. "Psychiatrists and therapists."</p><p>Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Are you trying to say that Edward is crazy?" she asked, her tone suddenly low as she glared at him. If looks could melt, he'd be a puddle on the floor. He didn't have a chance to defend himself further before she cut him off. "Just because Ed works for you doesn't mean you know him. You know <em>nothing</em> about either of them and what they've been through. I know Ed would never agree to something like this, so what gives you the right to make a call like that? What gives you the right to force them to stay here?"</p><p>"Miss Rockbell—"</p><p>"He deserves to be able to go home! That's the <em>least</em> they deserve, after everything you've put them through!"</p><p>The words hit home, forcing the breath to leave his lungs and his mouth to fall shut.</p><p>She was right . . . she didn't know how right she was. Roy had put them through much too much, and it was clearly his fault that Ed was the way he was now. There was no denying Roy's guilt in the matter, and Roy knew that regardless of what he did, he would never be able to atone for it.</p><p>But still . . . isn't trying worth something?</p><p>Alphonse had entrusted Roy with Ed's care, and on some level, Roy believed that Edward was trying to trust Roy with himself, too. Roy couldn't fail them again. He wouldn't.</p><p>Roy recovered himself. He leveled the girl in front of him with an even stare, straightening his shoulders just slightly. "Miss Rockbell," he said slowly, resolve lending his voice strength. "The Elrics have chosen to stay with me, and they will be allowed to do so until they decide to leave. If Ed wants to return to Resembool, I won't stop him, even if I disagree with his decision. He isn't a prisoner here. I don't appreciate you questioning my motives."</p><p>Winry seemed surprised by his rebuttal, blue eyes widening and her lips moving soundlessly. Then, she was crying. She turned away from him, dropping onto the workbench and letting the wrench fall from her limp fingers with a dull clunk against the wood. She tried to reach for the forceps again, but her shaking hands wouldn't hold it and she abandoned the notion, burying her face in her hands instead and sobbing.</p><p>Roy blinked, staring at the girl stupidly. Why was she crying? Was it something he said? "Miss Rockbell?" he asked uncertainly, stepping closer.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her sweater. "I'm sorry, I sh-shouldn't have said that. I'm t-taking it out on you, and it's not y-your fault," she said between sobs.</p><p>He floundered there for just a moment before his sense of chivalry kicked in. Though he wasn't sure if it would comfort her or earn him a wrench to the head, he slowly placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but didn't shrug him off. Maybe he was developing a talent for this. He certainly seemed to be doing a lot of it these days. "Winry," he said softly. "It's alright. You're under a lot of stress right now. It's understandable that you're confused and looking for someone to blame, but I promise you that I am doing my best to help Ed the best way I know how. It would mean a lot to me if I had your support, but I understand if you are reluctant to give it."</p><p>She sniffled, hastily wiping away more tears and blinking furiously. "I know you're trying to help. I'm sorry." She took a long, deep breath, then cleared her throat. "I better get back to work if I'm going to finish this by tomorrow."</p><p>Clearly a dismissal, Roy took back his hand back. He only watched a few minutes more as she grabbed the forceps again and started at the wires again, then he quietly slipped back up the stairs. He had his own work to tend to, and however much practice he was getting, he decided that comforting emotionally distraught teenagers was not something he took a great deal of joy in.</p><hr/><p>Ed couldn't seem to stop shaking. The fear was consuming, making his body feel hot and cold at the same time and his breaths come in quick, shallow gasps.</p><p>"It's alright, Fullmetal," Mustang's quiet voice assured him somewhere from behind. "You need to calm down before you hyperventilate."</p><p>Easy for <em>him</em> to say. Ed couldn't calm down. Even now, Winry was fetching the finished limbs from the basement, and she would be there any minute.</p><p>"It's okay, Brother," Alphonse said over him, his gentle grip tightening around him ever so slightly. "We won't let anything happen."</p><p>It wasn't okay, and Ed wished they would stop insisting it was. He was trembling so badly that he was rattling his brother's armor. The urge to bolt was almost impossible to ignore, but Alphonse held him securely in his arms, and there was no way Ed would get very far without his other leg, anyway. "Al, can you . . . will you . . ." His arm made a weak twitch toward where he thought the bed was. He wasn't too sure if he was pointing in the right direction, though. Mustang had thought it better to use the other spare bedroom for this, since he didn't want Ed to have a negative association with his own room, and Edward was not at all familiar with it.</p><p>But even with his vague request, his little brother was able to understand him clearly. Without further prompting, Al carried him the last few steps to the bedside, carefully lowering Ed onto the soft bedspread. "Do you need some help?"</p><p>Ed shook his head, conscientious of Mustang's watchful presence only a few feet away. He awkwardly dragged himself to the side, wobbling slightly on his shaky arm and leg before he managed to twist himself around, laying on his stomach with his empty shoulder port overhanging the edge of the mattress.</p><p>He could hear Winry coming, her steps thudding down on the ground floor. He fisted his hand in the sheets to stop its shaking,</p><p>Mustang moved, feet treading softly across the carpet. Ed felt the mattress on his left dip as the older man sat down, sending a wave of his mesquite-and-earth scent to wash over him. Ed tried to find it comforting. "What do you want me to do, Fullmetal?" he asked.</p><p>Ed swallowed, hating what he had to ask, but knowing the alternative was worse. He turned his head so that he would face Mustang and not Winry. It would be harder for him to hurt her that way, and if he accidentally bit Mustang again . . . well, he deserved it more than Winry. "Hold my arm down. Al, can you get my legs?"</p><p>Two leather gloves settled on the back of Ed's mismatched legs, a gentle but firm hold through the blanket draped over them. Ed's breathing spiked from the sensation of being restrained, a small, panicked whimper escaping his lips and he flinched, almost kicking Al away before he caught himself. Al held steady through it, loosening his hold just slightly. "Is that better, Brother?" he asked softly, as if afraid Ed's reaction was somehow his fault.</p><p>Ed nodded, trying to force a smile to his face. It faltered, though, twitching then falling flat entirely when it was too much effort to keep it in place. He needed to reassure his little brother, though. "That's good, Al. Thanks."</p><p>One of Mustang's hands settled on the back of Ed's shoulder, the other around his forearm. Ed shook him off enough to raise his hand to his throat. His breathing calmed just a bit with the comforting pressure there, his heart easing into a less frantic rhythm. His neck was safe, so there was nothing to worry about, right?</p><p>He almost laughed aloud at the stupidity of it.</p><p>
  <em>Sure, Ed, just hang on to that completely rational thought . . .</em>
</p><p>Winry's footsteps sounded in the hallway, and though Ed didn't think it possible, his body stiffened further, pulling against his captors' holds . . .</p><p>No. Not captors. It was Alphonse and Mustang. <em>Alphonse and Mustang.</em> He had to keep it together.</p><p>He heard Winry's hesitate at the door. "What are you guys doing?" she asked, voice laced with suspicious accusation.</p><p>His little brother was obviously flustered. His grip shifted. "Um, Ed . . . he asked us to help hold him," he explained sheepishly.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Does it matter, Winry?" Ed said, surprising himself with how level his tone was. "Just do it fast."</p><p>Apparently she hadn't been expecting Ed to come to their defense. She paused, then came closer, automail clicking in her arms. "Alright, Ed," she murmured, voice gentle. The same tone she used on him after he had lost his arm and leg in the first place. He hated it, being coddled and pitied like some kind of helpless invalid.</p><p>
  <em>But that's exactly what you are.</em>
</p><p>He was quick to suppress <em>that</em> particular thought. He had more pressing things to worry about.</p><p>She was beside him now. Metal clanked and shifted and he heard the rustle of fabric and tools. Thoughts of knives and saws burned to the forefront of his mind, rising from the dark corners of his memories like wraiths from ashes. The air was suddenly frigid, goose bumps rippling across his skin as his body trembled. A cold draft stirred the air, resonating through the small chamber with a haunting whisper.</p><p>His only three limbs were strapped securely to the metal table, and no matter how much he pulled against them, they wouldn't give. In fact, they seemed to tighten with every tug, his body aching painfully in response to the pressure.</p><p>Everything hurt so much, and it seemed like it had hurt for forever. He couldn't remember what not being in pain felt like. His chest, sides, throat, back, neck, ports . . . <em>everything</em>, one, big, insurmountable ache. The worst, though, were his eyes. They were swollen painfully in their sockets and seemed to constantly sting, like the acid poured into them not long ago was still eating through, burning the back of his eyelids and into his skull. They constantly watered, streaming liquid misery as if simple tears could wash away the blindness.</p><p>He suppressed a small gasp as he heard movement. Heavy boots thumped into the room, one set coming closer. He was here. Him and his lackeys, ready to beat the information out of him, to unearth secrets he simply didn't know and wouldn't tell them even if he did.</p><p>"Have you thought anymore about your answer, little alchemist?"</p><p>Ed shivered. That voice. It was a rough growl, laden with a thick accent and terrible cruelty. Though his eyes were gone, Ed remembered his face; the last sight he ever saw. It was broad and weathered, with pocked, dark skin under a thick beard as black as the night and small eyes that shined with hatred and brutality.</p><p>"Hmm. Still nothing to say, eh? And you were so vocal when you first arrived," he said, a devilish smile in his voice. A gloved hand touched his bare stomach and Ed gasped. He flinched away as far as he could, but his restrains didn't give and he whimpered, a thousand pleas bubbling in his throat and dying on his lips. The man only chuckled, fingers running across his exposed ribs almost playfully. "What's that, little alchemist?" he cooed, voice sneering and patronizing and completely humiliating. "You need help finding your words?" The fingers dug into his side, ripping open a healing wound. Fresh, hot pain lit his body like a fire and wrenched a strangled cry from Ed's throat. "Perhaps a taste of your own blood will loosen your tongue." The hand dragged over his side, stinging abused flesh further and smearing blood down his body. Then something clamped over his mouth. Ed pressed his lips shut and tried to wrest his head away from the hold, but his own warm blood seeped into his mouth, metallic and bitter and he gagged.</p><p>
  <em>"Fullmetal, come on!"</em>
</p><p>Ed couldn't get the wretched taste from his mouth. It slid down his throat and it was drowning him.</p><p>
  <em>"Ed!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Brother, please!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alphonse . . . </em>
</p><p>Ed recoiled as if from a slap. He felt Alphonse, heard Winry's frantic mutterings and felt a tingling sensation in his shoulder port. He smelled Mustang and heard the clang of metal and felt the mattress beneath him, its softness unstable and terrifying. "Al!" he yelped, twisting against the restraints.</p><p>"I'm here, Brother!" he answered, his voice just a bit too fast and too high to be calm. "I'm right here, but you need to stay calm, okay? Winry's just repairing some of your wires."</p><p>Ed swallowed thickly, the phantom taste of blood still haunting his tongue. His heart was racing in his chest, making him dizzy and he heard Drachman voices laughing in his head, getting closer to reality. "Al, talk, <em>please</em>. Someone keep talking."</p><p>"Alright, Brother," Al said, and Ed latched onto his voice like a drowning man to a life raft. "When this is over, I'm going to make you stew for tonight. I'll make it the way you like it, with milk and everything. How does that sound?"</p><p>Something in his shoulder port shifted and he gasped as it felt like his absent arm twinged in response. Sweat beaded his forehead, even as he shivered, and he could have sworn he heard the Drachman say something to the others in his thick language. "That sounds . . . sounds g-good, Al." His voice was shaking as much as his body. "Keep talking."</p><p>"Winry's almost done replacing the damaged wires, right Winry?"</p><p>"Just one more," she agreed, her voice quivering as much as his. "How are you holding up, Ed?"</p><p>The Drachman was coming back and he shook his head against the mattress. The movement was quick and jerky. "Fine, just hurry."</p><p>"Okay, I finished replacing the wires, Ed," Winry said, throwing something down and making more metal clang together. His port jarred, a heavy weight settling in it. "I'm putting in your arm now. I won't connect it until I get your leg. We'll do them both at the same time, alright?"</p><p>Ed didn't respond. His hand knotted the sheets, twisting them as he tried to gain purchase in this reality until another hand found its way under his. Mustang gripped it firmly as Winry set to work aligning his leg's prosthetic. "You're doing just fine, Fullmetal," Mustang said, his low baritone soothing and strong. "Just think, in a few minutes you'll have two arms to hit me with instead of just one."</p><p>Ed's lips twitched again, but the smile was gone before it arrived.</p><p>"Okay, Ed," Winry said, her voice clipped. "We're ready. On three, okay?" He felt her touch on his ports, ready to flip the clamps into place. "One."</p><p>It was coming. It was coming, they were going to hurt him and there was nothing he could do about it.</p><p>"It would make me happy if you screamed as prettily as you did last time, little alchemist," the Drachman purred.</p><p>
  <em>"Two."</em>
</p><p>He heard a sharp crack of electricity, the generator being brought to life, and then something was clamped to his automail.</p><p>"Now, what are your northern base's lockdown procedures?"</p><p>
  <em>"Three."</em>
</p><p>Even if he could, he wasn't given a chance to answer. His world became reduced to white, searing agony as hundreds of volts of electricity slammed into his body. Other pains were reduced to gentle discomforts in his mind as this new torture ravaged him. His blood sang with it, his ears ringing and he thought he would certainly be lucky enough to die this time. His heart faltered as his body jerked in terrible convulsions, caught in the throes of agony unlike any other.</p><p>Time stopped. It was only him and the consuming pain, ever other sensation, every other thought blocked away. In that eternity, he didn't know who he was. He didn't know why he was, or how he was, only that his entire existence boiled down to that single, encompassing sensation. There was no beginning and no end and no mercy.</p><p>He wasn't sure when it finally stopped, but he heard screaming and realized it was him. He was screaming and crying and weeping and shaking, and arms were wrapped around him, and he smelled mesquite and earth, and heard soft murmurings and quiet whispers and he simply could take no more.</p><p>His mind shut down and he drifted, lost in a sea of white that smelled strangely of steel and citrus.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alphonse spooned some stew into three bowls, casting worried glances at the couch in the living room every now and again as he did. All he could see over the back of the couch was Winry's blonde head, but judging by the way she was just staring at her lap, Ed wasn't awake yet.</p><p>The installment of his automail . . . well, Al knew it had never been a particularly pleasant experience for his brother. In fact, from what Winry had told him long ago, the connection of automail to nerves was one of the most painful experiences a human body could be subjected to, but in the years Ed had possessed automail, Alphonse had never heard him scream like that. It was almost animalistic, something feral and raw and completely horrifying. Even now, hours later, Alphonse was still shaken from the experience, and that just made him feel all the more weak and selfish.</p><p>Even more, though, was how he had felt after the installation was complete. Ed was nothing but a screaming, crying wreck, and Alphonse wanted to hold him and reassure him that everything was okay, that his little brother was there and he would keep him safe, but just the touch of his hard, metal skin sent Edward into a delirious, terrified frenzy, and Alphonse was forced to relinquish him to Mustang and Winry's care.</p><p>That had cut Al to his very soul.</p><p>If Alphonse couldn't even be there for his brother, when he needed him the most, what good was he?</p><p>No, that was ridiculous. Edward was the one that had endured the unthinkable. He had spent months alone, tortured and had his mind all but destroyed. Al had no room to feel sorry for himself.</p><p>But that didn't mean it still didn't hurt, though . . .</p><p>Alphonse forcibly crushed that selfish train of thought. He was leaving in just a few short days to find a way to heal his brother. Once that was done, things could go back to normal. Well, as normal as they were for their lives, anyway. Ed would be able to recognize him, and maybe after a little bit of therapy, things could be almost the way they used to be . . .</p><p>Al noticed a sudden resistance on his gauntlet and glanced around to see Roy holding a halting hand against his wrist. He met the Colonel's dark gaze inquiringly. "I think two bowls will do for now, at least until he wakes up," Roy said kindly, taking the empty bowl from Al's hand and placing it back on the counter.</p><p>Al made a sighing sound, more out of habit than any sort of need, his gaze traveling to glance past the kitchen window at the dusky twilight stealing over the city. "He's been out for hours now. Are you sure we don't need to call Doctor Silas?"</p><p>"We put a whole lot of strain on his system today," Roy said, picking up a couple of glasses and filling them in the sink. "He just needs some time to recover. Not to mention with the scale of his flashback this time . . . well, I would hate for him to wake up to a relatively unfamiliar presence."</p><p>The Colonel had a point, Al supposed.</p><p>"So, when are you going to tell him?"</p><p>Alphonse flinched. That was something he didn't want to think about, much less <em>do</em>. "I . . . I don't know," he said, setting spoons in each bowl. "I haven't really thought about it."</p><p>"You said you were leaving right after Winry," Roy pointed out, picking up a dirty dish from the sink and a wet washcloth. He ran the cloth over it with meticulous care, scrubbing away all the remaining food in the soapy water. "You have to be the one to tell him, and soon. I don't think he'd appreciate finding out at the last minute."</p><p>"I know," Al murmured, leaning against the counter. "I know, it's just . . . well, I guess I'm scared to tell him. He's going to be so upset . . . I hate seeing him like that."</p><p>Roy set the dish aside and reached for another, and Al studiously kept his gaze from his. "I know, Alphonse," he said, his low voice gentle. "But you and I both know that the longer you wait, the worse it'll be. For the both of you."</p><p>He was right. As much as Ed argued against it, the Colonel usually was. It was so strange; the other night, when Alphonse told him he was leaving, he had been so certain, so sure that he was making the right decision for his brother. Roy had been the hesitant one, the one that had reservations about the whole idea, but now it seemed their roles were reversed, and Alphonse wasn't sure. Now that he was confronted with the actual deed, with telling Ed, he wasn't sure if he could.</p><p>But Roy was looking at him. Al felt his eyes, and when he finally dared to look, he saw something that surprised him. Instead of the blank, indifferent mask he was used to seeing, he saw something else.</p><p>He had captured glimpses of it before in only the past few weeks, always directed at Ed when he was at his most vulnerable, but never at Al. It was something soft and reassuring, like the look on their mother's face when she told them it was okay to be afraid of the dark. It was gentle and forgiving and open, and somehow, Al felt some of his anxiety start to ebb away.</p><p>So he nodded and he felt his soul smile a bit. "I'll tell him," he promised. "I'll tell him tonight."</p><p>Roy smiled at him, something like pride in his eyes and Al wasn't sure why it was there, but it made him feel good somehow. "Good."</p><p>He gathered the glasses, Al grabbed the soup bowls and they both made their way to the living room. His eyes were immediately drawn to Edward as if subjected to some kind of magnetic force, and he couldn't help but notice the way Roy glanced, too.</p><p>His brother was still out, wrapped in his blanket with his head peeking over the top, cradled in Winry's lap. A cool clothe was draped over his forehead, fighting off the fever he usually got after automail installation. Winry ran her long fingers through his hair, separating strands of gold like rays of the sun, her other hand wrapped around the side of his neck in what was probably supposed to be a soothing gesture, though Al knew that if Ed were awake, he would have never allowed the contact on such a sensitive area.</p><p>Ed's face suddenly scrunched up, the first signs of an arriving nightmare. His breathing quickened, a low whine escaping his lips, but Winry leaned over him, smoothing away the grimace with her gentle hands and Ed slowly relaxed again in her lap.</p><p>It just made another stab of envy knife its way through Al's soul, and again, Alphonse had to forcibly stifle it. Ed would have to learn to rely on others while he was away. It was best if he got a head start on it while Al was still around, right?</p><p>Alphonse stopped in front of his childhood friend, offering her a bowl as he did. She glanced up and gave him a smile, situating Ed's head gently before accepting the dish. "Thanks, Al."</p><p>Alphonse lowered himself carefully onto the adjacent couch next to where Roy had settled, mindful of his sharp spikes and metal ridges against the upholstery, and handed the Colonel his bowl.</p><p>"Thank you," he said, tucking into the meal almost hesitantly, his eyes never wavering from Ed's small form.</p><p>Now that he had his automail, he almost looked whole, as if when he awoke, he would be normal. He would stretch, freak out that Winry was so close to him while he slept, demand to know why everyone was staring at him, then bounce off the couch and out the door, leaving Al to chase after him. Alphonse would give anything for that.</p><p>Ed stirred.</p><p>All movement stopped. Winry put her bowl down on the side table and Roy set his own aside, then they watched as he frowned, his head moving back and forth as he tried to wrest away from his feverish sleep.</p><p>"We should probably start talking," Roy advised, glancing at Al and Winry. "It'll help him figure out where he is."</p><p>Alphonse thought that was probably a good idea, then felt bad for not thinking of it himself.</p><p>"Did you guys get finish getting all of his bandages changed?" Winry asked. Mustang had thought it would be a good idea for them to redress his wounds and replace his bandages while he was out of it, since it would save him some stress and embarrassment later. Alphonse was even able to see to some of Ed's touchier injuries, and the ones that he was too ashamed of to let Alphonse or anyone else tend to without a fight.</p><p>Alphonse nodded. "Yeah, we fixed all of them up. Hopefully when Silas comes tomorrow he won't have to do anything about them this time." Ed hated people messing with that sort of thing, and even more so now when he couldn't see what they were doing.</p><p>Ed's real hand clenched and unclenched, then he slowly opened his eyes.</p><p>Then they widened and he froze, he breathing catching as he stopped, listening.</p><p>Winry had frozen, too, then resumed her stroking of his hair. "Hey, Ed, how are you—"</p><p>That was all she got out before Ed shot up, expression panicked as he brushed her off and scrambled to the other side of the couch, his body lurching noticeably to the right with the sudden addition of automail. He tried to get to his feet, but he got his automail foot caught around his blanket and he fell over the end of the sofa, landing face down in a heap on the floor with a pained yelp.</p><p>"Brother!" Alphonse was on his feet before anyone, rushing to his brother's side as fast as he dared.</p><p>Some of the terror on Ed's face muted at the sound of Al's voice, and for a moment, Alphonse felt a little more validated. "Al?" he asked, something terribly hopeful in his raspy voice. He tried to push himself up, but couldn't seem to manage it with the way the blanket was wrapped around his legs and how he held his prosthetic arm as dead weight.</p><p>"I'm right here, Brother," Al assured him. He put a careful leather gauntlet on Ed's real arm, applying a gentle pressure when Ed tried to pull away. "Please, stop," he said quietly. "You'll hurt yourself."</p><p>Something flickered behind Ed's dulled eyes and he stilled. Then he seemed to remember something and his brows knit together in confusion. "Al, what's going on? Where are we?" His hand reached out to brush the carpet beside his face experimentally, then up to touch his throat.</p><p>It was a common question, one he asked almost every time he woke up, like he needed to be reassured that this wasn't a dream. It broke Alphonse's heart to see his older brother so uncertain of himself. It was worse knowing that Ed knew it, too, and seeing how hard he tried to hide it. But if he had known there were other people in the room, no doubt he wouldn't have asked at all. "We're in the living room," Al supplied, keeping a steadying hand on Ed as his other gauntlet untangled the blanket from his legs. "I made stew, but you can't eat it from down here. Let me help you to the couch." Without waiting for further permission, Alphonse slowly pulled him to his feet.</p><p>Ed blinked at the sensation, swaying unsteadily on his feet and Al had to keep a firm grip on his brother to keep him from falling. "My arm . . ." He lifted it before his body, slower than he had ever moved it previously, as if he wasn't sure if it was really there or not. His real hand followed, holding his silver wrist. "She fixed it?" he asked. Then his eyes widened in remembrance, the arm falling to his side. "Al . . . is she okay? I didn't hurt her, did I?"</p><p>"I'm fine, Ed," Winry said. She and Mustang were both on their feet, hovering a safe distance away.</p><p>Ed gasped at the voice, almost falling over himself when he quailed back, but Al held him steady. "It's okay, Brother. It's just Winry."</p><p>Blond brows frowned in irritation, his cheeks burning. "I know her voice, Al. I'm not an idiot." Alphonse didn't bother feeling too hurt. He knew Ed was only upset with himself, trying desperately to save a little face in front of everyone else. "Winry . . . who all is here?"</p><p>"I'm here," Roy said, again making Ed flinch, though not as badly as before. "That's it."</p><p>Ed nodded, reaching out his real hand to touch the automail arm at his side, then the fresh dressing encircling his still-healing throat. His hand froze there. "You messed with my bandages?" he asked, another frown on his face, this time angry and embarrassed. He ran an analyzing hand up his bare torso, brushing against all of the new and replaced linens, his scowl only deepening. "You messed with them while I was out of it?"</p><p>"Don't be so dramatic, Fullmetal," Roy said dismissively. "You know it has to be done. You don't seem to mind it as much when you're asleep."</p><p>"It's <em>my</em> body!" he hissed, bending over with Al's help to grab the blanket around his ankles. "You don't have to right to go poking around it, doing whatever you please while I'm unconscious!" His cheeks were flushed in humiliation as he wrapped the cloth around himself with a single practiced hand, a vain attempt to hide his body from sight.</p><p>"Brother, it's okay," Alphonse said before Ed and the Colonel started tearing into one another. How was he supposed to leave Ed here by himself with Roy if Ed couldn't trust him with the more personal things? "The Colonel and I just patched you up so Doctor Silas won't have to tomorrow. We thought you'd be happier if you didn't have to know about it."</p><p>Ed was practically seething. His eyes narrowed as he glared somewhere to over Al's right shoulder. "There are a lot of things I don't know about anymore," he said pointedly. "I don't want what happens to my body to be on that list."</p><p>If Alphonse had possession of a mouth, he would be grimacing. "I'm sorry, Brother. We were just trying to help . . ."</p><p>"I get plenty of <em>that</em>, too," he hissed, shrugging Alphonse off roughly and almost falling in the process. He stumbled on his repaired automail, barely catching himself, then reached out low with his real hand, searching for something familiar to latch on to that wasn't a person.</p><p>Alphonse shrank back. Ed was angry with him again. It was like no matter how hard he tried, he always did it wrong. Instead of making things better for his brother, he ended up making them worse, making Ed more uncomfortable than he already was.</p><p>Suddenly, Winry brushed past him and straight up to Ed, stopping before him with her jaw set and fire in her eyes. Edward froze, hearing her approach, but unsure what to make of it. "Winry?" he guessed before frowning. "Look, Win, I appreciate—<em>gah!"</em> he yelped when Winry's hand slapped the side of his head. "What was <em>that</em> for?!" he demanded, rubbing the sore spot and ducking away from her.</p><p>She didn't let him off that easy, though. She snagged his shoulder in a fierce grip. "I didn't have my wrench," she growled, like that was some kind of explanation. "Edward Elric, what do you think you're doing?"</p><p>He glared in her general direction, his real arm wrapped protectively around his head. "What's it look like? I'm going upstairs."</p><p>"Yeah, well, you're going the wrong way," Winry hissed.</p><p>Alphonse didn't realize it was possible for Ed's face to get any redder. "Shut up, Winry! You try it without looking and see if <em>you</em> don't get mixed up every now and then!"</p><p>"That's the <em>point</em>!" she shouted, her hand tightening around his real arm. "I wouldn't be staggering around like an idiot! I'd ask for help!"</p><p>Ed tried to shake her hand away. "You're a little late, we've already had this conversation! I know, I need to ask for help and all that crap, but I want to be awake for it!"</p><p>Alphonse suddenly understood. Months of being locked away, tortured . . . all that time, he had no control over anything. People touched him whenever it suited them, cruelly so. It made sense that this would be something Ed would want complete control over, to know about and monitor the only way he could without being able to see. If he couldn't feel, he couldn't know, and his sense of touch was Ed's last line of defense.</p><p>Winry didn't give in her grip. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe they don't want you awake for it because they don't like seeing you in pain?!"</p><p>Ed might have winced, but the expression was gone before Al could be sure. "That's not the point . . . I need to know." Some of the anger was dissipating from his voice, which made Alphonse concerned. They were just getting started into one of their fights. Ed was supposed to get angrier and angrier until Winry whacked him over the head with a wrench and called the fight finished. He was acting his usual brash self just a minute ago . . .</p><p>"The only thing that knowing does for you is make you upset!" Winry snapped. "They just made things easier for you! Why are you giving them such a hard time about it?"</p><p>Ed tried to pull away again, weaker this time. Something in his expression was distracted. "That's . . . That's not the point . . ."</p><p>"Then what <em>is</em> the point?!"</p><p>Ed closed his eyes, wrenching them shut. "Let go."</p><p>Winry opened her mouth to yell, then blinked. "What?"</p><p>"Let go . . . of my arm . . ." Alphonse noticed the trembling in his hand, the way his breathing started to come in quick gasps. "Let go, please."</p><p>Winry released his arm hurriedly and he crumpled to the ground, hugging his real knee to his chest and burying his face in it, hand holding his throat. Another flashback?</p><p>Both Al and Roy rushed to him, crouching down on either side. "Fullmetal," Roy murmured.</p><p>With a force of will, Alphonse stopped himself from saying anything. Ed could hear him, would know he was there if he needed him, but if Alphonse was going to be leaving soon, it was time that Ed learned to reach out to someone else for comfort. No matter how much it pained Al.</p><p>Ed's hand released his throat slowly, then reached, searching for someone.</p><p>Again, Alphonse stifled the urge to put his hand in the way. Besides, Roy was quick. He immediately put his sleeve in Ed's reach and his brother latched on.</p><p>He took a deep breath as if preparing himself for something painful, his eyes cracking open as he exhaled. "Sorry . . . I'm sorry," he said quietly. He breathed for a minute longer, slowly calming down.</p><p>"Panic attack?" Roy asked gently.</p><p>Ed nodded. His lip suddenly quirked and a small, humorless laugh forced its way from his throat.</p><p>"Ed?" Al asked before he could stop himself.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Al . . . all of you. I'm a real idiot, huh?" Again, that strange, disturbing laugh wracked his weak body. "Can't even keep it together to hold a conversation. You're right. Sorry for always being a pain."</p><p>"Fullmetal," Roy said with a small smile that wasn't quite a smirk. "If you weren't being a pain, I would think something was seriously wrong."</p><p>"Thanks for that," Ed replied, but it wasn't as laced with sarcasm as it might have been otherwise.</p><p>Winry kneeled down in front of Ed. Her eyes were swimming in unshed tears and she looked like she was trying very hard to keep them from falling. "Ed, I'm sorry, that was all my—"</p><p>Ed shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It was my fault for being an idiot." He sighed. "Al?"</p><p>"Yes, Brother?"</p><p>His mouth opened, then closed with a grimace. He looked like he'd rather not have to voice his request. "Can . . . It's late, right? Can we just go to bed?"</p><p>"But Brother, you need to eat something. Doctor Silas said—"</p><p>"Come on, Al, I'll eat twice as much tomorrow," he pleaded, gathering the blanket around him. "I don't think I could keep anything down right now, anyway."</p><p>Al scrutinized his pale, drawn face, the fever burning vividly behind a veil of sweat. He didn't look very good . . . Al sighed in defeat. "Okay, Brother, but at least take a shower and cool off."</p><p>Alphonse didn't think it possible, but Ed paled further at the suggestion. Alphonse didn't understand why, but showers were terribly stressful for him now. It usually took Al a good twenty minutes to talk him into the tub in the evenings, and he almost always had an episode once the water started running. "A cold cloth will work. Seriously, Al, I took a shower yesterday. Skipping a day won't kill me."</p><p>Al made a sighing sound again. "Fine, but you're taking one first thing in the morning."</p><p>"Fine, whatever," Ed said dismissively, practically melting with relief.</p><p>"Ed," Winry said, getting to her feet. "We really need to run a performance check on your automail to make sure everything is working. We didn't get a chance to right after installation." There was something detached in Winry's voice, like reading a report. Maybe that was the only way she wasn't crying right now.</p><p>"Can we do it tomorrow?" Ed asked. He never <em>asked</em>.</p><p>So Winry relented. "I guess . . . As long as it's not hurting you, I guess it'll be okay to wait."</p><p>"Thanks, Winry. Sorry about earlier." Ed never apologized, either.</p><p>"It's okay," she said with a blush.</p><p>Al slowly, gently helped Ed to his feet and turned him around, leading him up the stairs at a snail's pace. Alphonse watched the awkward way Ed held his automail at his side. "Your automail doesn't hurt, does it?" he asked as they reached the landing.</p><p>Ed shook his head. "Nah, no more than the usual tingling right after connecting. It's just . . . since I can't feel it, I'm used to watching to make sure I'm moving it right and now . . . well, I don't want to break anything."</p><p>That would make sense. There was no way Ed would be able to tell where he was moving his arm without his sight to guide him. Alphonse was well acquainted with the need to be very careful and watch where and how he moved so he wouldn't hurt anyone or anything with his cumbersome, unfeeling body. "I'm sure you'll get used to it, though," Al said, forcing some cheer into his voice. "It'll just take some practice with it."</p><p>Ed smirked. "Yeah, I guess so. You can help me figure it out."</p><p>Alphonse bit back an affirmative response. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, he was leaving at the end of the week. He wouldn't be around to help with much of anything.</p><p>He had to tell Ed tonight.</p><p>Ed didn't seem to notice his lack of response. They made it all the way to the bedroom, where Alphonse helped him change out of his day clothes and into his sleep pants and shirt, then out of habit, turned off the lights and guided his brother to the bed.</p><p>The bed was more of a formality than anything. As soon as the nightmares started, Ed usually ended up on or next to Alphonse on the floor, but he let Alphonse pull the sheets up over him, and Al couldn't help but wonder if he would let Roy do the same for him. Would he let Roy do any of the things he needed help with?</p><p>"What's eating you, Al?" Ed asked, jarring Al from his musings.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Ed was staring ahead, frowning at the ceiling in the dimness. "You've been awfully quiet. What's up?"</p><p>Maybe it was stupid for Al to try to keep anything from his brother. Blind or not, Ed was a lot more observant than he sometimes let on.</p><p>Alphonse settled beside the bed, leaning back against the wall so he could watch his brother's face. He hadn't been planning on letting him know until the day before he left, but he made a promise to Roy. And maybe Roy was right. Maybe this would give him more time to help Ed adjust, and maybe he could encourage him to get used to the idea of letting Roy help him out every now and then . . .</p><p>It would be painful for them both to tell him either way, but maybe this would be best for Ed, and what was best for Ed would always be Alphonse's first priority.</p><p>Ed's frown deepened, the barest traces of uncertainty starting to appear. "Al?"</p><p>"I'm still here, Brother," he assured him quietly, much to Ed's obvious relief. He closed his eyes and rolled over to face Al, holding his prosthetic arm across his chest then stilled, as if waiting.</p><p>Al wished he could feel the effects of a steadying breath. "Um, well . . . I . . . I guess I don't really know how to tell you . . ." he confessed softly, and even though he knew Ed couldn't see him, he was unable to look him in the eye.</p><p>"What are you talking about?" he asked, a sudden wary tension in his voice. Al glanced up to see him frowning deeply. "Since when did we ever have to sugarcoat things with each other? You can tell me anything, Al, you know that."</p><p>"It's going to hurt you, Brother," he whispered. "You're not going to like it."</p><p>A weak smile tugged at his brother's lips. "I've had worse. Spill."</p><p>Al tried again to breathe, only succeeding in making a whooshing sound with no calming sensation to follow. "I've been doing some research, and . . . well, I don't want to get your hopes up, but I may have a lead on a way to get your sight back."</p><p>Alphonse may have not wanted Ed's hopes up, but it disturbed him to see Ed's expression turn to something more closed and cautious, as if he didn't have it in him to hope like that anymore. "Well, I knew you weren't always over there reading books about the Philosopher's Stone."</p><p>Al would have blushed if he could. "Yeah, um . . . this seems more important at the moment."</p><p>Ed tensed, his face twisting into something both horrified and angry. "Al, there is <em>nothing</em> more important than getting your body back," he said fiercely. Al flinched, metal groaning with the movement, and Ed stilled suddenly. The fury slowly melted from his face, leaving something more resigned and maybe apologetic in its wake. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I haven't really been all that helpful lately, but that doesn't mean you need to stop. This is just . . . this is a setback. If you keep finding the leads, I can focus on working through this and then soon we'll be able to—"</p><p>"No, Brother," Al said, cutting him short. He hated it. He hated the way Ed tried to be so independent, to pretend that he could do it himself when he <em>couldn't</em>. Not alone. "You can't just <em>work through</em> blindness."</p><p>Ed grimaced, like that statement caused him physical pain. He buried half of his face in his pillow and said nothing.</p><p>"You can't get over this. Not without something more. And since human transmutation is out—" Ed cringed. "I think I found something else. It's a healing form of alchemy."</p><p>At this, his brother had a restrained sort of interest. "Healing alchemy? Wouldn't that just be human transmutation?"</p><p>"No, it's just a sort of alchemy that uses something called chi . . . the problem is that the only place I can go to learn more about it is Xing."</p><p>Ed's breathing stopped.</p><p>Alphonse watched with increasing worry as Ed clenched the pillow with his real, his automail hand fisting hard enough to groan in protest. Finally he breathed, a stressed, gasping sound.</p><p>"Brother, please, calm down," Al pleaded, reaching out his hand to touch Ed's.</p><p>His brother's hand released the pillow and clamped around Al's. He was shaking, hard enough to rattle Al's arm. "Al . . . please don't do this," he whispered, wrenching his eyes shut. "Al . . . please don't . . ."</p><p>"Brother," Alphonse murmured. "I have to. Whatever it takes to fix this, I have to try."</p><p>If anything else, he clung to his arm more desperately. "Al, I can't do this . . . I <em>can't</em> do it without you, Alphonse. If you're not here, Al, I . . . <em>no</em>, Al, I need you. I <em>need</em> you, Alphonse, please . . . please don't."</p><p>Al felt something in his soul shatter as a few tears squeezed past his brother's closed eyes. He wanted to cry, too, but no matter how anguished he felt, how miserable he felt for his brother, nothing spilled from his soulfire eyes.</p><p>Ed used to be so determined, so driven . . . now everything was an act, a weak front set up to protect Al, but from what, he wasn't sure. Ed's weakness, maybe, but that was silly. Al knew his brother better than anyone, and even now, even at his lowest point, he was the strongest person in the world.</p><p>"Brother, please understand," he whispered. "Please. This is for you. If I can do this, you'll have your sight back, then we can work on getting our bodies back again. Just think, this could even be the key to figuring that out, too."</p><p>"Take me with you, then," he said, curling his withered body around Al's hand like a child clutching a teddy bear. Al wished he could cry all the more. "I know I can't . . . I can try, Al. I can try to keep it together, just give me a chance!"</p><p>Did Ed not see what he was doing to him?! Al's other hand tightened around his knee. "Brother, you know that won't work! You know you're not ready for that, and I can't bear to see you like this anymore! This is torturing you. I'm not going to let it go on any longer, not if I can stop it."</p><p>Alphonse saw Ed try to get himself under control. He shook, scrubbing tears from his face with his arm, and tried to breathe. Al watched his chest rise and fall quickly. He almost whispered something a few more times, but the words died before they could even leave his lips and he quit trying altogether.</p><p>Finally, he let go of Al's hand and sat up. Al watched as he slid off the bed, pulling his blanket with him as he did and slowly crawled over. Al put out an arm to guide him and he soon curled himself up in Al's lap, the blanket covering him up to his head. Alphonse reached up and grabbed the pillow, tucking it under his brother's head to cushion it from his unforgiving armor, and wrapping his hand around Ed's shoulder.</p><p>Soon, he stilled, his breathing evening and his sniffles slowing. Al thought his brother was asleep until he asked in a small voice, "What am I supposed to do without you, Al?"</p><p>Al glanced down, staring at the side of Edward's face. He didn't seem to be panicking. Not at all. In fact, he seemed almost relaxed. The only hint that everything was not right was the hand curled around his throat.</p><p>"Brother . . ."</p><p>Ed sighed softly. "Do you remember that time you went to summer camp, Al?"</p><p>Alphonse stared. Summer camp? "You mean when I was six?"</p><p>"Yeah." He stared ahead, bleached eyes blank and even more distant than usual, lost in his memories. "You told Mom you wanted to go to summer camp because you were tired of me bossing you around all the time and you wanted to go live with the 'camp people' for a while."</p><p>"Yeah, I remember," Alphonse said, feeling his soul smile at the memory. "It was after you took my favorite stuffed cat and told me that I had to grow up."</p><p>"You didn't talk to me for almost three days for that. Up until you left."</p><p>"Mom and I spent the next week packing. You were so mad at me wouldn't even talk to me."</p><p>A soft smile stretched Ed's lips. "I wasn't mad. I was afraid you were leaving for good. I didn't know what to say to you to make you stay."</p><p>Alphonse blinked at him. "You thought I would leave for good?"</p><p>Even in the dim moonlight, Al could see a flush paint Ed's pale cheek. "Yeah, well, I was seven! I didn't know summer camp only lasted two weeks!"</p><p>He thought a moment. "Is that what you're afraid of? That I won't come back?"</p><p>Ed tensed in his grip. "Things happen. I know . . . I know not on purpose or anything . . ." Al didn't like the hesitancy there. "But Xing is all the way across the desert, and what if something happens? What if something happens and I won't be there? If you don't come back . . . Al, I won't—"</p><p>"Brother," Al murmured. "Trust me. I'm not helpless, you know."</p><p>Ed's lip quirked to the side. "I know. You're anything but helpless, Al. It just scares me."</p><p>Alphonse bent over and gathered his brother in his arms. Ed yelped in surprise, clinging to Al's arms as he lifted him to rest against his chestplate. "I'll come back, Brother. I promise. I promise you I will come back, and I'll bring anything I can find to help you."</p><p>Ed slowly relaxed into the hug. His eyes were watering again as he stared at nothing, but he smiled anyway and wrapped his arms around Alphonse's neck. "I know, Al. I know."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy knew from the moment he woke up that Alphonse had made good on his promise the night before.</p><p>It was easy to tell because Ed was practically glued to his little brother's side. Even when Alphonse led him into the bathroom for a much-dreaded shower, Ed followed without complaint, one hand clamped on Al's arm as he followed him in and shut the door. They emerged the same way, Ed trembling and gasping the way he usually did after such an ordeal, but much cleaner and even more unwilling to be separated from his sibling.</p><p>When they finally came down for breakfast, Alphonse had to forcibly sit Ed down to remove him from his side. "Colonel Mustang is getting your food. I'm going to get your medicine, so stay here," he ordered, his tone gentle but firm.</p><p>Ed opened his mouth to protest, then closed it and reluctantly let go of Alphonse's arm, wrapping his shaking hand around his other arm. "I don't want the dumb pills," he said, and though his voice was weak and trembling and sweat beaded his forehead, he managed to convey his irritation well enough by slumping in his chair and scowling at nothing. There was something odd about the whole display, though. The tension in the boy's jaw, the way his hand clenched his prosthetic, and a gut feeling Roy couldn't seem to shake.</p><p>Well, maybe that was just him getting better, slowly being more like himself. It would take time.</p><p>Alphonse was well trained when it came to his brother and artfully ignored his bad mood while he went about opening bottles and collecting his medication. "They're just all the usual stuff, Brother. It's not like there are any sleep aids or anything." <em>This time,</em> Roy heard him add silently.</p><p>Ed didn't look at all impressed. "They all make me feel weird." He suddenly looked apprehensive, his former irritation slipping away, switched off like a light. "Winry isn't down yet, is she?" he asked carefully, turning his head as if listening for her.</p><p>"Not yet," Roy assured him, piling a plate high with an assortment of caloric foods for the abysmally thin blond. As much as it had annoyed him before, Roy missed the sulky, petulant side of Ed. It was a side he hadn't seen much of at all since his rescue and Roy found it oddly refreshing, even if he seemed a bit off somehow. But, well, it was progress, right?</p><p>Roy placed the plate in front of him. "Breakfast."</p><p>Ed made no move to find the food before him, or even acknowledge it was there. "I don't want that, either," he muttered, his mood back as quick as Roy could blink.</p><p>Roy chose not to question it. He was doing better, and Roy would continue to tell himself that until that annoying feeling in his chest went away. "You promised Alphonse that you would eat twice as much today," he reminded, placing a fork in his hand. "Eat up, shrimp."</p><p>Ed bristled, barring his teeth. "Who are you calling a shrimp, you jerk?" he demanded. Though he seemed hostile enough, Roy again wondered if he heard something forced in his tone.</p><p>"Well, as the only half-pint, shriveled up midget in the vicinity, you're the safe bet," Roy pointed out, watching with a twinge of satisfaction as Ed snarled something impolite, resituated his blanket around his shoulders, and set about searching for the plate with annoyed vehemence.</p><p>Alphonse stepped in front of Roy, holding out a juice glass filled with an assortment of colorful pills and gestured to Ed.</p><p>Roy frowned at him. Alphonse always gave him his medication. Why now did he want—</p><p>It dawned on him. The way Ed was now, relying so much on routine and consistency, little changes upset him. Winry's arrival was proof enough of that, making him terribly anxious. He was still very on edge just waiting on her to come down to breakfast. Alphonse did a lot for Ed. In fact, he did almost everything for him. With him leaving, it would all fall to Roy, and if Ed wasn't at least a little prepared for it, the adjustment would be far from smooth.</p><p>Roy accepted the glass and turned back to Ed. "Here are you meds," he announced, gently taking Ed's real hand, removing the recently-located fork and placing the glass in it.</p><p>Ed blinked, holding the glass as if Roy had just put a live animal in his hand. "Al?"</p><p>"Right here, Brother."</p><p>"I thought you were getting them?"</p><p>"I did, Brother. I'm, uh . . . I'm trying to finish this omelet for Winry," Al said, hastily retreating to the stove to crack some more eggs into a skillet.</p><p>Ed frowned. "Liar," he accused flatly. "Okay, Mustang, what is this?" he demanded suspiciously, shaking the glass from side to side. The pills clanked together innocuously, but Ed wasn't convinced.</p><p>"Honestly, I have better things to do than poison you, Fullmetal," Roy sighed. Obviously Alphonse was on to something. Ed was distrustful of him generally, even before he lost his sight. If Roy were being honest with himself, that hurt a bit. To think all of his sacrifices and efforts for the brothers' sake proved nothing to the eldest boy.</p><p>"Brother, take your medicine," Alphonse admonished, scattering some chopped vegetables in the cooking eggs. "Winry will want to run a performance check on your automail when she gets down, and Doctor Silas is coming this evening and he won't be happy if you skip your antibiotics."</p><p>Ed glared sightlessly at the glass before him, his gaze off a few inches, but he finally sighed, setting the cup down before him. He located his glass of juice and pulled it closer to him, then went back to the pills, tossing the lot of them into his mouth and following with a few swallows of juice. "Everyone happy now?" he asked, sinking back in his seat.</p><p>"Thrilled," Roy assured him.</p><p>"What are we thrilled about?" a sleepy, feminine voice asked.</p><p>Ed jumped a mile, his glass of juice leaping from his hand and smashing against the floor, bright shards scattering across the tile. The sound only alarmed Ed further, sending him scrambling to his feet, right into the sharp mess.</p><p>Roy got to him too late. Ed cried out as glass bit into his bare foot, and Roy barely managed to sweep him up off the floor in time to save him from the worst of it. The boy's eyes dilated and Edward flailed around, fighting his grip with desperate intensity, and it took Roy all of three seconds to realize Ed didn't know where he was anymore.</p><p>"<em>Stop, no more!"</em> he cried, bucking in Roy's arms like a live wire. Tears started to roll down his face as he twisted, and Roy had to dump him on the tile away from the mess to keep him from falling. <em>"No more, please!</em> <em>I don't know! </em>I DON'T KNOW WHERE!"he screamed, and Roy's blood chilled in his veins.</p><p>"Fullmetal, stop this!" Roy hissed, but it was to no avail. Ed continued to struggle, and it was all Roy could do to keep from being punched or kicked by an automail limb. He sprawled on top of him, pinning him down with his body weight as Ed smeared his blood across the floor and sobbed. Roy fumbled for the automail failsafe, but his angle was all wrong and he couldn't get his hand behind the boy's shoulder without getting his fingers crushed against the floor.</p><p>"<em>I don't know . . . I don't know,"</em> he whimpered over and over again, and Roy winced. He sounded so scared . . . so beaten, like wherever he was, he had resigned himself to the pain. Did he think he was back in Drachma, being tortured for information with no escape, no hope of rescue?</p><p>
  <em>Had Ed given up on him coming?</em>
</p><p>"Brother!" Alphonse cried, collapsing near his face. "Brother, can you hear me?"</p><p>Ed's struggling slowed, and the terror and desperation on his features abated somewhat to reveal a pained confusion. "Al?" he blinked, then sudden clarity shined through his blank gaze and he was back, but not like before. There was no insolence, no sullen, irritable attitude about being pinned on the ground by the 'stupid Colonel.' Just a scared, abused child afraid of the dark and his own haunting memories. "Al, where are you?" he asked with a trembling voice, twisting beneath Roy and when he found he couldn't move, the panic returned.</p><p>"I'm right here, Brother! It's okay!" Al assured him, gripping his arm gently. Ed latched on, trying to wrest his way from underneath Roy as he did.</p><p>"Edward, hold still!" Roy hissed again, and Ed flinched, but the fear didn't leave his eyes.</p><p>"Mustang?" he asked, eyes widening, then he flailed all the more. "Get off! Why does it hurt?! What happened? <em>Get away!"</em></p><p>"<em>Fullmetal, stop that this instant!"</em> Roy snapped, and Ed froze, eyes widened in shock.</p><p>"Now, Fullmetal," Roy growled in his ear. "I'm going to get up, and you're going to hold absolutely still until I've had a look and made sure you're alright. Do you understand?"</p><p>Ed gave a mute nod and Roy slowly eased himself off of the blond, keeping careful track of his facial expressions as he did. The kid seemed shaken, but not dangerously so. Aside from keeping him calm, Roy's biggest concern was his injury. There was blood all over his kitchen floor, and the boy's foot was still bleeding generously.</p><p>"What happened?" he whispered, gasping for breath. He curled on his side and Roy resisted the urge to bark at him for disobeying.</p><p>Ed's hand reached for his foot, but Roy intercepted it, holding it at bay and taking the bare foot in his other hand. As he examined it, Ed pulled his hand back and held his throat.</p><p>The damage didn't look substantial; there was a small shard embedded in the ball of his foot, and despite all the blood, it wasn't terribly deep. "Alphonse, will you go get the medical kit?"</p><p>"Someone tell me what happened, please," Ed begged, his automail hand tightening around Roy's own almost painfully while the other still held his throat. His tone broke Roy's heart. It wasn't at all the same one he had used just moments ago, muttering and bickering under his breath. It wasn't like Ed at all. "Why does it hurt?"</p><p>Alphonse gave Roy a meaningful look, then hurried off to find the kit, brushing past a shocked Winry still frozen at the mouth of the kitchen. Roy stifled his irrational annoyance at the girl for causing this, for hurting Ed, no matter how unintentional. "You just dropped your glass and stepped on it, that's all. It's nothing to worry about, we'll get it patched up," Roy assured him gently, fingers sweeping back Ed's damp hair from his forehead before he caught himself and withdrew his hand.</p><p>Ed leaned into the lost touch before he seemed to remember himself as well. With an obvious force of will, he let go of Roy's other hand and curled in tighter on himself. His trembling became more pronounced as he held himself against the cold floor. "Winry?" he asked.</p><p>It took the girl a couple of tries, but she got the words out. "Yes, Ed?" she stammered, stepping forward.</p><p>"Can you . . . will you wait upstairs, please?" he asked. His voice was tight, like a dam waiting to burst, and Roy was confused by that. Wasn't the worst of it over? He was back now, and everything was supposed to be fine . . .</p><p>"Oh . . . okay," Winry murmured, clearly just as surprised as Roy was by the request. She turned and padded from the room.</p><p>Ed listened to her go, then slowly opened his eyes. Roy found them glistening with unshed tears. His mouth moved up and down a few times before anything came out. "I'm . . . I'm sorry."</p><p>"What are you talking about?"</p><p>"I'm s-sorry, M-mustang," he whimpered, and suddenly tears were spilling down his face. "I didn't mean . . . I didn't mean to break it, I'm t-trying. I promise I'm trying, Colonel. I'm sorry . . ."</p><p>Roy blinked. All of this for a cup? "Ed . . . it's a silly glass. I'll just fix it with alchemy," he promised gently, placing what he hoped was a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.</p><p>If anything, though, Ed's despair increased. He curled in on himself tighter, arms crossed as if holding himself together. "I b-bit you, too . . . and now it's infected."</p><p>Roy was quickly finding himself overwhelmed. Where was all of this coming from? Roy had thought he was getting to be more like himself, but obviously he was mistaken, his head refusing to believe what his gut was telling him. Maybe Al's announcement of his departure was upsetting him, shattering what little progress he had made in light of such stress, or maybe it had all been some sort of act to begin with. "How do you know that?"</p><p>"It d-doesn't smell clean." Ed tried to pull the blanket up over himself, but it was caught around his legs and it wouldn't budge, so he gave up on it and hid his face behind a limp metal hand. "I'm sorry, I'm trying, I promise I am . . ."</p><p>"Ed, stop that," Roy murmured gently, and though he wasn't sure if the action would be met with appreciation or violence, he put a hand underneath the boy and carefully sat him up. Ed responded numbly, body moving where directed as if in a daze. "You have nothing to apologize for."</p><p>Ed's lip quivered, then he bit down on it. His flesh hand reached out, wrapping around the hand Roy had placed around his metal bicep, almost desperately. "I don't—"</p><p>"I mean it," Roy said, his own voice coming out tight, and Ed flinched. Roy ignored it, though. This was all his fault, and Ed had no business blaming himself for it. Every hurt, every scar was Roy's fault. Roy had sent him into the lion's den, without a second thought for his safety, and he had come back like this, this shadow of a human being. Nothing was the same. Edward Elric didn't curl up on the floor and cry over a broken glass. Edward Elric didn't jump when someone made an unexpected noise, or flinch away from his little brother's touch. It wasn't fair that Ed blamed himself when the fault so clearly lied on Roy's shoulders. "It's not your fault, it's . . . it's. . ."</p><p>The confession was on his lips, but he stopped. The condemning words refused to come out, their bitterness choking him. <em>Coward</em>. He took a deep breath. "Everything's fine, Ed," he said instead. "I told you we'd get through this, and I meant it. There's no reason to apologize."</p><p>Ed opened his mouth to reply, but Alphonse's heavy steps echoed down the stairs and their conversation was halted as the younger brother hurried in with the kit. He glanced concernedly over Ed and almost hesitantly handed the box over to Roy.</p><p>"Thank you, Alphonse." Roy opened the box and pulled out some antiseptic, forceps and bandages and got to work on Ed's foot. The blond didn't seem too terribly unsettled by the pain this time, only offering the occasional wince or hiss as Roy dug out the glass. He was careful to make sure he left none behind, then cleansed the wound and wrapped it up. "There, all done," he announced, then turned his weary gaze to the floor. The kitchen was a mess. "Alphonse, why don't you take Ed to the couch? He can eat in there."</p><p>"Okay. Come on, Brother," Al said, gingerly scooping Ed up in his huge arms. Ed didn't protest, curling himself against the suit of armor like clutching a teddy bear.</p><p>Ed didn't let go the rest of the day, no matter how many times Alphonse tried to encourage him to. Roy watched as he endured his tune up with muted interest, one hand holding on to Al with unwavering resolve as he went through Winry's various exercises. The brazen attitude he had displayed at breakfast seemed to have died in light of the morning's incident and Ed was subdued the rest of the day, as if he didn't have the energy to pretend anymore.</p><p>Roy hated it.</p><p>The only thing that seemed to draw any sort of emotion from him was Winry's departure.</p><p>She stood at the door, one suitcase in her hands and the other heavy in Roy's as she looked at Ed with watery eyes. Ed stared ahead, his mouth a hard line and he looked like he desperately wanted to say something, but no words were forthcoming. "Winry . . ." he finally said, but nothing followed.</p><p>Winry gave a weak smile. "Sorry it was such a short trip, but I promised Granny I wouldn't stay long. We're backed up enough as it is, and we have a surgery scheduled tomorrow."</p><p>Ed's grip tightened around Alphonse's forearm. "It's okay," he said, voice thin and shaking almost as much as he was. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."</p><p>Silence stretched on and Ed started to look uncertain. Roy cleared his throat, making everyone jump. "Well, I guess we should get going," he said, winding his scarf securely around his throat.</p><p>Before Roy could make a move to intercept, Winry shot forward, dropping her suitcase and pulling Ed in a tight embrace. Ed stiffened in surprise, but it quickly gave way to understanding and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, holding her close with a desperation that rivaled his hold on Alphonse. "Promise me you'll get better, Ed," she commanded softly into his shoulder.</p><p>It took Ed far too long to respond. "I promise," he finally whispered.</p><p>She sniffled. "I'll come visit you again soon, okay?" she said. Ed nodded against her and she stepped back. Her face was wet with tears, but her gaze soon hardened into something more determined. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, got it alchemy freak?"</p><p>Ed's lip quirked into the barest hint of a smile, and Roy was surprised to find that, though muted and suppressed by bitter reality, there was the faintest trace of true humor in it. "Whatever you say, gearhead."</p><p>She smiled, but it only twitched on her lips for a moment before falling flat in the wake of a sob as she snatched up her suitcase and turned heel, flying out the door with the breath of winter in her wake.</p><p>Ed blinked after her a moment, then the strong façade melted away and he took a shuddering breath, curling forward and brushing his bangs from his face. Then he tugged on Al's arm, and with an anxious glance between his brother and Roy, Al led a limping Edward back to the sofa.</p><p>Roy sighed and followed Winry to the car.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Alphonse was reading to him, some text about fire and its alchemical properties he had found on Mustang's shelves, but Ed was much too distracted by his own thoughts to pay it much mind.</p><p>No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't do it. He <em>couldn't</em>, and trying just made it that much more pronounced.</p><p>The sweet rhythm of his brother's voice suddenly slowed, then stopped altogether. "Brother?" Al asked, metal body shifting on the couch beside him.</p><p>Ed curled up tighter against his side, unwilling and unable to lose contact with his little brother. That would happen on its own soon enough. "I'm fine," he murmured. "Just keep reading."</p><p>Al made a sighing sound and went back to the book, and though Ed tried to focus on his brother's voice, a voice he was going to miss terribly, his mind refused to cooperate, spiraling down a dark train of thought.</p><p>Alphonse was leaving in another day, and he would be here, all alone. All alone with Mustang, and then there would be no hiding anything.</p><p>If Alphonse wasn't here to help him, Ed would have to do everything himself. There was no way he could let Mustang do it, help him with showers and finding his clothes and reading to him in a vain attempt to keep his mind from wondering . . . there was no way the man would stick around through that, let Edward stay with him when he was such an inconvenience. Where would he go when Mustang got tired of him? If he didn't become more independent, and soon, there was no way Mustang would put up with it.</p><p>He had tried to act normal that morning. He had tried hard, saying all the right things, being annoyed at the right times, even losing contact with Alphonse, but something always went wrong. It had scared him so badly . . . to have someone suddenly there behind him, when he didn't hear them, had no way to see who it was, if they were there to help or hurt him. He knew he was safe in Mustang's house, and it was just Winry, just her sweet, beautiful voice, but that was all it took to send him into a panic. Then he broke Mustang's stuff and hurt himself more, and Mustang had to once again try to comfort him, bandage his cut like he was some accident-prone toddler.</p><p>He had apologized, tried to make Mustang understand how hard he was trying, that he wasn't trying to be a pathetic invalid that couldn't even drink his juice without making a mess of things.</p><p>He had told himself he trusted Mustang. He wanted to believe it, <em>needed</em> it, but when faced with the cold facts, his scientific mind only saw one logical answer, the only likely conclusion.</p><p>One way or another, he would end up alone.</p><p>Alphonse leaving was just the first step. Mustang wouldn't put up with it forever, no matter what he said. Of course, he <em>had</em> to say those things; he had to promise Ed that he took care of his own, and surely he would for a while. But this was a night that would never end, and even the strongest wavered eventually. Mustang had never been patient with him before, and Ed was surprised he had managed not to snap for this long.</p><p>And now, in that endless night, his only source of light was leaving for Xing. The bitter sense of despair and abandonment was enough to drown him. He knew Alphonse was only trying to help, to find a way to make it better, but if he lost Al, he'd lose everything. The only thing redeeming about his pathetic existence was that he had his little brother, and now he was losing that, too.</p><p>"Brother!" Al said, in a tone that hinted he'd said it more than once.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I asked if you wanted to get changed before the Colonel and Doctor Silas get here."</p><p>He didn't want to. He didn't want Silas or the Colonel here. He didn't want to move from this spot, to do anything that would bring him closer to separating from his brother. The thought of it was enough to make him want to just quit, to stop trying at all and end the isolation.</p><p>He managed a small, tight smile. "Sure, Al."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy signed the last paper with a tired sort of grace, then stacked the lot of them, put them in a pale manila folder and handed them to Hawkeye. "There, I trust everything else is in order?"</p><p>"Yes, sir," she said, tucking the folder under her arm. Her warm sherry eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "You do look a bit tired, sir. Perhaps this break is the sort of thing you need."</p><p>Roy sat up from his desk and pushed his chair in. "It's hardly a break, Lieutenant. Between taking care of Fullmetal, looking into his case and this research, it isn't exactly shaping up to be the most relaxing of vacations." Though, admittedly, it was a handy thing that he was a State Alchemist. The position granted him the option of taking up to six months to research any alchemic field he desired, as long as those results proved useful to the military. "You think you'll be alright here?"</p><p>Hawkeye glanced at the door to the outer office where the rest of his team was hard at work, trying to stay ahead of the onslaught of paperwork. "With your absence, that should put a stop to some of work we've been flooded with." She stepped around his desk, seemingly casual as she looked out the window to admire the scenery. Then she was speaking, her voice barely more than a murmur, "I know you've been busy, sir, but I'm sure you've noticed; All this paperwork, the higher-ups hedging us in . . . something isn't right."</p><p>Roy frowned. Admittedly, he was a bit of a conspiracy theorist, especially when something didn't add up right. By his nature, he tended to jump at shadows and shoot at the wind, but Hawkeye was far too level-headed for that nonsense. He had possessed his own suspicions about the circumstances revolving around Ed's disappearance, but to hear Hawkeye voicing her concern made his own doubts seem much more valid.</p><p>First there was the mission Ed was sent on. It was handed to him by the Fuhrer himself, with the request that Fullmetal take care of it personally. Roy had found it odd that the Fuhrer would take so much interest in a rash of break-ins of some storage facilities in the North. From what he could tell, nothing of great importance had been taken, but that sort of information didn't always make its way down to mere Colonels. So without further investigation into the matter, and only a twinge of unease, Roy had passed the mission on to his subordinate, and Roy would never ever forgive himself for it.</p><p>When Ed missed his second check-in, Roy got worried. He made a few calls to his contacts in the North, and they promised to look into it. When Roy had called back, though, they all told him the same thing: there was no sign of the Fullmetal Alchemist. Roy was ready then and there to drop everything and head North, but that's when the red tape started to appear. Every move he made, he was blocked, be it by paperwork or procedures or matters of jurisdiction, and he was certain he called in every favor with every higher-up he knew from Central to North to get the case handed to his team.</p><p>By the time he had gotten everything in his hands, three weeks had passed since Ed had gone missing. They spent the next weeks wading through misfiled reports, stolen evidence, witness statements that didn't match, and all manner of what would be dubbed "sloppy work," but Roy had another name for it: red herrings. It took them over two months to find Ed, and when they did, he had been left for dead in the basement of an old house on the Drachman border. No clear evidence, no clear motives. Nothing.</p><p>And now their investigation since was being forestalled by the paper assault the higher-ups were waging on his team.</p><p>Now that he knew he wasn't the only one, that the nagging in his gut wasn't simple paranoia, he had a theory.</p><p>Someone didn't want them poking around Ed's case. Someone was hiding something. And if Drachma was involved, it was big, deep, and likely to be hazardous to Roy's health.</p><p>"I'm aware," he murmured. "Perhaps it's best if we keep our suspicions to ourselves for the moment. We'll have to discuss this later." He stepped to the coat rack and swung his greatcoat over his shoulders. "What do you say to dinner at my place?" he asked suddenly, giving her his brightest, most charming smile. "Perhaps on Thursday evening?"</p><p>Hawkeye didn't bat an eye. "Very good, sir. I'll bring dessert."</p><p>He smiled. "It's a date, then."</p><p>"I'll invite the others."</p><p>Roy pouted. "You ruin all my good fun, Hawkeye."</p><p>She gave him the barest of smiles. "I do my best," she said, heading for the door.</p><p>"Bring Armstrong, as well." It would be a good idea to have someone from Investigations on their side. "I'm sure he wouldn't want to miss out on my famous charbroiled steaks."</p><p>"Yes, sir," she nodded, then left to the outer office.</p><p>Roy finished packing up some paperwork, clasped the messenger bag shut, then wrapped his scarf around his neck and headed for the door.</p><p>A pale, sharp figure stopped him. "Ah, Colonel," he said, voice smooth and oily and sounding much the way Roy imagined a snake's might. "Almost out the door, I see. Lucky I stopped by when I did."</p><p>In Roy's mind, Colonel Archer bore all the traits commonly found among reptiles: cold, calculating, and with the ability to make one's skin crawl with little to no effort. He was dressed smartly in his uniform, his dark hair slicked back and a particularly chilly look in his blue eyes that set off alarm bells in Roy's mind.</p><p>"Colonel Archer," he greeted, not even bothering to keep the disdain from his voice. He was tired, and the thought of playing politics with the likes of Archer did not sound appealing to him in the slightest. "What a pleasant surprise." <em>Like a parasitic infestation . . .</em></p><p>Archer graced him with a thin smile. "I'm sure. Might I come in?"</p><p>Roy's smile was positively hostile. "Certainly."</p><p>Roy led him back into his office, setting his things down and seating himself at his desk. Archer shut the door behind him and instead of taking one of the chairs in front of Roy's desk, decided to stand before him. Probably some sort of attempt to intimidate him, but Roy was far too on guard for that to work. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"</p><p>"First of all, how are things going with the Fullmetal boy?" he asked mildly. "As I understand it, he's staying with you."</p><p>Roy was careful to keep the surprise from his face. The only people who had known anything about that were Silas and the people sitting on the other side of his office door. How had Archer gotten his claws on that piece of information? "He's doing quite well," he responded coolly. "I expect he will be moving along on his own shortly."</p><p>"Oh? Then I can assume that your sudden need to take a sabbatical for research is purely academic in nature and has no relation to the boy's condition?"</p><p>Roy could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Ed was no business of this lowlife, and the fact that Archer had taken an interest in him made all of Roy's base instincts scream in a territorial sort of way. "You can assume whatever you please, Colonel. It makes no difference to me."</p><p>Archer's serpentine eyes narrowed into slits, but he still smiled. Like the cat that ate the canary. "Very good. Perhaps now you will be ready to follow procedure and question the boy regarding the nature of his disappearance. An act that should have been done weeks ago."</p><p>The temperature in the office dropped about ten degrees.</p><p>Roy wanted nothing more than to warm it back up with a few well-placed flames. "Fullmetal was not in any state to give his statement at that time, and frankly, he still isn't. If you would like, I can get his doctor to submit a report on the matter."</p><p>"No need," Archer said, stepping to the side to examine the books on Roy's shelves. "General Hakuro was just curious as to why this investigation hasn't gone anywhere. Frankly, I am as well." He glanced at Roy over his shoulder. "It's odd, isn't it? You would be so eager to take the boy in, but right in the middle of his investigation, you decide to take time off."</p><p>Roy felt his jaw clench, his muscles cinching tight enough to snap. "I'm not certain as to what you're implying, Colonel, but my intentions are just that; mine. My team will continue to handle the investigation in my absence, and I am not taking full leave. I will still be very involved in this case, I can assure you." He leaned forward, his lips slowly stretching into a lazy, feral smile. "And I can also assure you, we will get to the bottom of this, and anyone found remotely involved in Fullmetal's captivity and torture will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law." <em>And by any other measures I deem fit.</em></p><p>Archer's smile was absolutely frigid. "Good to know. Well, then, best of luck to you on your research, Colonel. I will be anxious to hear what alchemic secrets you will uncover for the good of Amestris."</p><p>With that, he turned and slithered out the door.</p><p>And Roy was left with a million questions on his mind and a cold feeling in his gut.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed remembered the day his father left. It was at the turning of the seasons, when winter was finally releasing its hold on the earth. The apple tree out front had bloomed the day before, filling the house with its sweet fragrance, and the grass was growing back lush and beautiful, flowers bursting across the open fields like wildfire. The morning was calm and still, the sun bathing the earth in a gentle, still sort of glow.</p><p>He remembered the day his mother left, too. Summer was dying, the leaves falling away from the trees in waves, bathing the yard in red and gold. The wind was just starting the gain the fierce bite of winter, tearing across the barren fields like an army of wraiths. It was cloudy that night, not a star in the sky and even the moon didn't dare make an appearance when their mother passed from this world.</p><p>The only thing Ed knew about the day Alphonse left was that it was cold, and he was too afraid to go out in it.</p><p>He clenched his hand in his little brother's. He knew they were standing in the entryway, far from the front door, like when Winry left. Mustang didn't want Ed out in the chill after his last encounter with the weather, and Ed couldn't say that he disagreed. He didn't have fond memories of the cold.</p><p>But his little brother was leaving, and Ed didn't even have the courage to walk him outside.</p><p>"It'll be okay, Brother," Al said gently, his voice thick. He sounded on the verge of tears. "I promise I'll call when I can. And . . . and I'll be careful, and I'll bring back anything that will help, okay?"</p><p>Ed opened his mouth, but he had a hundred things he wanted to say, and they all got stuck to the back of his throat, so he closed it and clung to Al, trying to breathe, trying to slow his racing heart. He had to be strong for his brother. Alphonse was always so sensitive, easily upset by things most considered trivial, and it was Ed's job to protect him. Even if he had to protect him from himself.</p><p>"Brother?" Al asked quietly. "Please, say something . . ."</p><p>Ed blinked back tears of his own. "I . . . I'll be okay, Al," he assured into his brother's side, weak voice faltering. He cleared his throat. "Just . . . just don't take too long, okay?"</p><p>"I promise, Brother," Al said, wrapping huge metal arms around Ed.</p><p>Ed hugged him back, no more words coming. But then, Ed realized maybe words weren't necessary. When you had known each other since birth, what could mere words possibly convey that the other didn't know?</p><p>"I love you, Brother," Al murmured, and Ed could clearly hear tears in his voice now, even if they would never manifest. "Get better while I'm gone, okay?"</p><p>Ed just clung tighter. Was this really it? He had survived months in the dark and in pain to be with his little brother again, only to have him walk out the door to go to some foreign country for who knew how long?</p><p>
  <em>Maybe to never come back . . .</em>
</p><p>He clenched his jaw, feeling sick and terrified and so terribly alone. "Love you, too, Al," he managed to choke out, the words having a horrible sense of finality to them. He pressed himself into the rough, scarred armor, feeling the metal planes press painfully against his skin, but never giving him the closeness he needed.</p><p>Time was difficult for Ed to gauge now, but it seemed like there wasn't near enough of it as Al's grip loosened. "I'll miss my train if I don't go," he said softly, stepping back. The contact was broken, and Ed felt the beginnings of panic flutter in his chest. Ed wanted to follow, wanted to find him and wrap his arms around him and hold on.</p><p>But he heard the door open and a gust of cold air rushed in and he froze, instincts desperately flaring to life. It was cold, like in the basement, and if he was still, they wouldn't find him . . .</p><p>No. Stop. Al was leaving, <em>not right now not right now.</em></p><p>He stood, feet glued to the floor and he listened.</p><p>Armor creaked across the floorboards.</p><p>"Bye, Brother." A whisper.</p><p>The door shut</p><p>Ed was alone.</p><p>No longer paralyzed by fear, Ed's real leg gave out on him. He collapsed to the ground, curling in on himself under the blanket. He held his throat with one hand and cradled his stomach with his prosthetic, anything to try to ease the awful, empty sensation that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. For some reason, he couldn't get his breathing under control. His lungs panted in short, shallow gasps and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.</p><p>Al was gone.</p><p>His little brother was gone.</p><p>The terrified sobs that shook his body were unexpected and uncontrollable.</p><p>A strong, familiar presence settled by his side, and though he reflexively flinched from the touch, he didn't have the will to do much more as he was scooped up off the floor like he weighted nothing and carried away.</p><p>"It'll be alright," Mustang murmured in his ear. "I promised you it would be, and it will." His voice was gentle and steady, ringing with resolve and conviction. He sat down, pulling Ed into his lap with him, then cradled him against his chest. He was warm, and Ed was so cold . . . so numb. He fisted his shaking hand into Mustang's shirt and clung there, leeching his warmth like a parasite, curling in closer. Trying to fill that horrible, empty void inside of him.</p><p>"He's gone," he whispered, surprising himself with the sudden words. They sounded hollow and lost, and Ed wasn't sure how to make them stop spilling from his numb lips. "He left . . . he's gone, he's gone . . ."</p><p>"Shh," Mustang murmured, a large hand trapping his head against the man's chest. "He'll be back. You know he'll be back."</p><p>"He's gone . . ."</p><p>"I know," he soothed, stroking his hair. "I know."</p><p>Ed sobbed, and Mustang held him tighter, but nothing stopped the bitter ache of emptiness inside him. The sense of abandonment burned him from the inside out and the closeness of another human being didn't seem to stifle it in the least.</p><p>He wanted Al.</p><p>He wanted his little brother back.</p><p>Ed shot from the older man's grip, clambering to his feet and limping desperately to the front door. Mustang was shouting something, but Ed wasn't listening. He felt the carpet turn to wood under his injured foot, then felt along the wall, his hands meeting the frozen glass of the side window. His hand brushed to the side, found the door handle and yanked on it.</p><p>It didn't budge.</p><p>He scrambled to find the lock, wrenching it aside, but it was too late. Mustang put a halting hand over his. "He's gone, Ed. Havoc already picked him up."</p><p>Ed tried to shove the hand aside, but it returned, sliding the deadbolt back in place. Another arm wrapped around his waist, pinning his automail to his side as it did. "Fullmetal, stop this," Mustang ordered in his ear, tone gentle but firm. "He's already halfway to the station. There's no way you can catch up to him."</p><p>Desperation and despair warred inside of him. He needed his brother! He <em>needed</em> him, why did Mustang not see that?!</p><p>He tried to shake Mustang off, tried once again to get out the door, but the older man was bigger and now so much stronger than Ed was. Before, Ed would have been able to get away easily, but his automail was trapped, and his wasted body didn't have the strength and all he could do was scream unintelligible threats and pleas and struggle pitifully in Mustang's unwavering grip.</p><p>He fought until he had nothing left, and then he kept fighting until he couldn't even keep his feet under him and he collapsed into Mustang's arms.</p><p>"Al . . . Alphonse . . . I need him, <em>he's my little brother,"</em> Ed sobbed into Mustang's shirt, trembling violently.</p><p>Mustang picked him up again, holding him close. "I know, Ed."</p><p>"He's gone."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>The coldness seeped all the way to his bones, and he was convinced that no amount of Mustang's warmth would ever be enough to chase it away.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy watched Ed with a growing sense of helplessness and unease as the lay on the floor against the wall, sightless eyes staring at nothing and a haunted look on his drawn face.</p><p>After more than an hour of hysteric babbling and sobbing, Ed had finally quieted enough that Roy felt comfortable leaving him on the couch to prepare dinner, but when he had returned to get him, the boy was gone. Roy's ensuing panic was only short lived, as he located him moments later, a pile of cloth and misery bundled up in the corner of the room.</p><p>Roy had tried talking to him, tried to get him to eat something, but he seemed to have none of it, and Roy wasn't sure if he was ignoring him or simply too grief-stricken to be able to listen. Somehow with Alphonse's absence, the small, thin child managed to look even smaller, even less himself, as if half his heart was missing as well. It was like Alphonse was his bridge to the outside world and with him gone, Ed no longer knew how to come back, or maybe had no desire to.</p><p>Nervous about leaving him in the living room by himself, Roy brought up some of his research from the basement and used the coffee table as his desk, checking on Edward with tired glances until he woke up to streams of sunlight filtering through the window, a crick in his neck and Ed's position unchanged.</p><p>He tried again to engage him in conversation, to talk him up from his corner and off the floor, but Ed looked as if he hadn't slept at all the night before and his lifeless eyes only drooped with red-rimmed exhaustion and an old, familiar sort of fear.</p><p>This continued the rest of the day until Roy was growing very concerned. The kid hadn't eaten or drunk anything in over twenty-four hours, refused sleep, and Roy was debating whether or not to call Silas back in.</p><p>Then he decided that this was completely ridiculous and he was going to get the kid out of there and functioning, or die trying.</p><p>So Roy crouched in front of the boy and said, "Come on, Fullmetal. You can't spend the rest of your life in that corner."</p><p>Ed started, as if Roy had sneaked up on him and was ready to bolt until recognition set in. Then he sagged into his blanket and blinked tiredly.</p><p>It was the response Roy expected, but not the one he wanted. He sighed. "You have to eat something. Silas said you weren't gaining enough weight as it is, and you haven't had anything since yesterday morning." Still nothing, so Roy decided to apply a bit more pressure. "What do you think Al would say?"</p><p>Ed grimaced as if in pain, but made no comment. Instead he curled up tighter and let his eyes fall shut. A clear dismissal.</p><p>A spark of irritation flared inside of Roy. Enough was enough. "Fullmetal," he said, a touch of steel entering his voice. "You promised Alphonse you would go to the psychiatrist. Your first appointment's tomorrow, you've barely slept since Al left yesterday, and you need to eat, shower, and get a good night's rest. So either you pick yourself up and get a move on, or I'll drag you out of there."</p><p>Roy watched something flicker in Ed's expression as his eyes flew open. Roy could see a battle raging inside of him, fear and uncertainty wavering back and forth until he finally screwed his eyes shut and whispered, "I can't."</p><p>Surprised by the response, Roy took a moment to figure out what to say. "Maybe not by yourself," he agreed. "But you're not by yourself, are you?"</p><p>Ed didn't look convinced.</p><p>"And you made a promise, remember?"</p><p>Ed sighed, bitter and resigned. Slowly, painstakingly he uncurled himself from against the wall, more than likely stiff from not moving on the floor for so long. Roy took his real arm gently and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled a bit, and seemed to be in some pain, but he moved to the kitchen with minimal assistance. The one thing that really worried him was, when he factored out the automail, the kid weighted next to nothing. Silas had been disappointed in Ed's minimal weight gain the other night, and stressed the dangers of keeping his body malnourished for such a long period of time. Then he went on about stress and eating as he kindly and concernedly shoved a sandwich down Ed's throat. That was the last time he had eaten anything.</p><p>"Any preference on what you'd like to eat?" he asked, depositing Ed at the kitchen table.</p><p>Ed looked unsteady as he sat in the chair, pulling the blanket taut and folding in on himself. He was gaunt and pale, the very resemblance of a dying star. He gave Roy a small shake of his head. "No," he murmured, voice rough with disuse.</p><p>Roy considered his food stores. He would need to run to the store soon. "How about eggs?"</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>Even if it was monosyllabic, Roy was pleased with any sort of response. At least he was acknowledging his presence instead of ignoring him. It seemed the contact had forced him to the present, forced him to interact.</p><p>Roy put a tall glass of juice in front of Ed and ordered him to drink it while he started dinner. It wasn't long before Roy had eggs scrambling over the stove, sprinkling them with a bit of salt and pepper as they neared readiness.</p><p>"Don't you have work?" Ed asked out of nowhere.</p><p>The question caught him off guard, and Roy took a minute to respond. "Well, firstly, it's eight o'clock in the evening," he drawled.</p><p>He saw Ed's cheeks flush and he ducked down, hunching his shoulders protectively, and Roy wanted to kick himself. The kid was <em>blind</em>, for crying out loud! He didn't know whether it was day or night!</p><p>Roy softened his voice considerably. "Secondly, I'm taking a bit of time to conduct my research. I'll be working out of my basement mostly."</p><p>An interesting assortment of emotions splashed over Ed's features, ranging from surprise, confusion, anger, and hope. "Mustang," he breathed, voice just coming out numb. "Mustang, you can't do that. What about your goals? You can't just sit around here babysitting me." The last part was clearly said with contempt.</p><p>"Someone has to watch you, and I have a lot of alchemic theories I've been meaning to investigate. Really, it's a win-win for everyone."</p><p>Ed wasn't buying that for a minute. "Mustang, that's stupid and you know it."</p><p>"Priorities, Fullmetal," was all he said, and though his tone was almost light, there was a lot more underneath it that he hoped Ed picked up on.</p><p>Edward seemed to consider this as Roy set his plate down in front of him. "Eat up, shrimp."</p><p>Ed didn't even have a scowl to spare for the insult. He sent his real hand out to grope for the spoon in front of him—Roy had learned that he always ate better with a spoon—then secured the plate under his automail hand and slowly scooped small bits of egg into his mouth.</p><p>Roy watched as Ed halfheartedly picked at his plate, then finally seemed to be able to stomach no more of it and pushed the rest away, more than half the plate remaining. Roy didn't want to admit how worried that made him.</p><p>Though he had never really been around the boy in a many casual settings, he knew that Ed had normally possessed a very healthy appetite, and even over the past few weeks Roy had seen him all but inhale his food the moment it was presented to him, but he had also observed that his appetite was bound to his emotional and physical wellbeing. When he wasn't feeling well, or when the flashbacks were particularly rough or violent, food was the last thing he wanted unless Alphonse goaded him into it, and now that Alphonse was gone, the few bites Ed had taken probably seemed a monumental effort to him.</p><p>Well, there was no sense in Ed seeing him worry.</p><p>"Good," Roy said, forcing approval into his voice. At least he ate something, and he had drunk all of his juice. "I'll make you something a little more substantial tomorrow."</p><p>Something like a grimace flickered over his face for a moment, then diminished to a tightness in his eyes.</p><p>That was the easy part.</p><p>"Now you need to get a shower and go to bed. Come on." Roy put a hand on his shoulder, just in time to catch the shudder that ran the whole length of his small, emaciated body. The reaction gave him pause. "It'll be okay, Ed," Roy murmured. "I promise."</p><p>Ed's face was pinched with foreboding, but at the assurance, his eyes slipped shut and he let out a tight breath before giving him a nod and slowly rising to his feet.</p><p>Roy took him at the elbow and guided him to the stairs. He had had plenty of time to think about this, how to do it with as little discomfort to Ed as possible, but there was no easy way to go about it. Alphonse had given him the brief rundown, told him how afraid Ed was of showering, all about how Ed needed someone right there for the inevitable flashback the shower caused and needed help with simple things like dressing, and sometimes bathing when the fear incapacitated him, and Roy was starting to feel terribly out of his league.</p><p>Roy wasn't sure who was slowing who down, but their pace was dragging by the time they reached the top of the stairs, and neither of them seemed anxious to pick it up.</p><p>Roy tightened his grip on Ed and began to move forward with purposeful strides that seemed to confuse Ed with their spontaneity, but Ed only stumbled once before Roy caught him, then struggled to keep up. Delaying wouldn't make it go away any faster.</p><p>When they entered the bathroom, Roy put Ed's hand on the countertop to anchor him, then busied himself carefully and methodically retrieving and laying out Ed's nightclothes, towel, shampoo, and soap.</p><p>It occurred to him that he might be stalling. If he wasn't going to take this well, then Ed was bound to sense his unease and respond to it the same way.</p><p>
  <em>Calm down, Roy. Stop being childish and give the kid someone to rely on.</em>
</p><p>Roy looked at Ed over his shoulder. The boy had barely said a word since Alphonse had left. He looked as pale as death, his real hand caught in a white-knuckled grip of the countertop and his breathes coming in ever-shortening gasps. He looked nervous enough to bolt, and Roy wasn't sure if it was fear of the shower, or of the uncomfortable situation they had found themselves in. Probably both.</p><p>"It'll be fine," Roy murmured gently. He needed to get himself under control. How was he to expect Ed to be calm and collected if he was acting like this was some great chore to be avoided?</p><p>One thing was for certain; Ed was not a chore, and Roy never wanted him to feel that way.</p><p>"You should leave," Ed said suddenly, voice trembling. "I'll do it myself."</p><p>"Fullmetal, I'm going to help you whether you like it or not, so you may as well cooperate," Roy informed him. He didn't like strong-arming Ed into things, despite his ability to do so. If he wanted, he could pick the kid up and cart him anywhere, and once his automail was disabled, there would be relatively little he could do about it. Edward valued his freedom and his independence, and as someone with a similar mindset, Roy knew he didn't respond well to having his authority over himself overruled or flat ignored, especially with something as personal as this, but there weren't any options in Roy's mind. The last thing Ed needed was to further injure himself, and if Roy didn't help him, that's exactly what would happen.</p><p>Ed's expression crumbled with the statement. Color continued to drain from his face as he stood there, small and shivering in the bathroom.</p><p>Roy turned back to consider the tub. "Tell me, have you tried a bath before?"</p><p>Ed blinked at this question, his horror momentarily forgotten. "A bath?" he asked, puzzled. "Not . . . not recently."</p><p>Roy had noticed that the boy didn't like loudly running water. If a faucet was too high, he would flinch away from it, and Roy supposed that the shower triggered flashbacks because it was so much louder and touched his whole body with force. Maybe if he ran the water gently, slowly filling the tub, it wouldn't be as likely to set him off. "I think we should try one. Can your automail be completely submerged?"</p><p>Ed seemed unsure of this new development, but nodded. "Now that it's fixed," he said. Maybe that's why they hadn't tried it before.</p><p>Roy nodded. "Good. I'm going to run the water now," he informed, leaning over the side of the tub and turning the faucet on low.</p><p>Ed flinched away from the sound, eyes widening as if considering the merits of fleeing, but Roy kept talking to him, "It's alright, Ed. Just the bathtub running. Now, get your clothes off and we'll get you in."</p><p>Ed shook his head, as if trying to shake away dark memories, still clinging to the countertop as if to ground himself. "I . . . not with you in here," he said, his voice more pleading than demanding. He knew this was a losing battle, but that had never stopped Ed before. "I can do this alone."</p><p>Roy understood, he really did. He understood that lack of clothing made him feel vulnerable, and in Ed's state, vulnerability was something constant. He had also spent months with his body laid bare to people that took full advantage of it, and it was no wonder that he was reluctant to tolerate it, even when the threat was absent. At least, Roy hoped the boy trusted him by now, enough to realize at the very least that he was no threat to his wellbeing.</p><p>Ed's safety was more important than anything, and if he had to be uncomfortable to be safe, then he would have to be uncomfortable.</p><p>"I understand, Ed," Roy said slowly. "But that doesn't change anything.</p><p>Ed seemed to wilt before him, shrinking until he was a shadow of himself and Roy fought the urge to gather him into his arms, to do something to protect him from whatever was going through his mind. He had a feeling Ed wouldn't appreciate the gesture at the moment. Slowly, the boy gripped the hem of his shirt with a trembling hand and began to pull it over his head.</p><p>"Here's a towel," Roy said, pressing the fluffy cloth into Ed's confused hand. It immediately fell to the floor and Roy picked it up and placed it on the counter next to him, taking Ed's hand and placing it over it to show him where it was. Then he stepped away and averted his gaze, busying himself with filling the tub. "I won't look. Just tell me when you're ready and I'll help you in."</p><p>Ed whispered something that could have been acknowledgement, but Roy missed it. He waited patiently as Ed fumbled with his clothing, and several minutes later, Ed breathed a slow, resigned "okay."</p><p>With only a towel around him, Ed was a pathetic sight. He shuddered like a leaf in the wind, skin raised with gooseflesh and sunken eyes uncertain and embarrassed. Roy knew the condition of the boy's body by now; thin skin, scarred and terrible, hips and ribs jutting out painfully from underneath. Despite knowing, seeing it a dozen times, it didn't diminish the impact. Every time he felt his blood boil at the sight of what had been done to the child. <em>A child!</em> Silas had removed most of the bandages on his last visit, leaving only the ones covering the deepest injuries, and Roy was wondering if those should actually get wet.</p><p>Ed gripped the extra fabric of the towel in his automail hand, digits locked around it in an unwavering grip. "Mustang?" he asked again, fear creeping into his voice.</p><p>"Right here, Ed," Roy assured him. "Should you remove the bandages?" he asked.</p><p>Ed's free hand moved to trace their harsh white. "I don't know. We've never taken them off."</p><p>Well, Roy supposed once more wouldn't hurt. He'd make it a point to ask Silas tomorrow. He stepped up to Ed, hooking his hand under his bare arm. Ed gave a startled gasp and tried to pull away from the touch, but Roy didn't release him. "Let me help you, Ed," he said patiently, waiting until Ed stopped struggling to pull him forward until they were right before the tub. Roy reached out his free hand to shut off the water and braced himself.</p><p>"Okay, Ed," he said, watching the boy with some trepidation. There was no telling how he was going to react to this. Best case scenario would be a delightfully uneventful bath. Worst case would be this blowing up in their faces, but Roy had his hopes. "The water's ready. It's pretty warm, so why don't you put your hand in there and make sure it's not going to burn you?" he suggested. Roy knew good and well that the temperature was just fine, if not a bit on the cool side, but he really wanted to give Ed something to take charge of, to have a say in. Especially when he was practically forcing him into this situation.</p><p>Ed's expression was tense and uncertain as he reached forward with the arm Roy held, so Roy guided his hand to the porcelain sides. He cautiously felt down, dipping his fingers into the warm liquid before pulling them back and hurriedly wiping the moisture off on the towel. "Its fine," he said, breath accelerating. Roy could have sworn he felt the boy's pulse pounding in his arm.</p><p>"Relax, Ed," Roy said. "It's just a bath. You're going to make yourself sick getting all worked up like this."</p><p>"I don't want to be here," Ed said, fear twisting his voice into something small and harsh. "I don't want you here, and I don't want to be here."</p><p>Roy sighed. Edward was a child prodigy; he knew that he had to be clean to keep wounds from becoming infected, as well as for basic hygiene. He also knew good and well that leaving him here to do this by himself was a bad idea. But Ed wasn't speaking from logic, he was speaking from basic emotional want. He wanted to feel safe, and this was probably one of the most upsetting things Roy could have possibly asked him to do.</p><p>"Ed, we've got to do this, so we may as well stop stalling," Roy said.</p><p>Ed closed his eyes, making an obvious effort to get himself under control. Then he reached again for the side of the tub. Roy respectfully kept his gaze upturned as he helped Ed in, feeling the boy's muscles tighten with apprehension as he slowly stepped into the water.</p><p>He gasped, breath coming faster.</p><p>"You're doing fine, Fullmetal," Roy assured him. "There's nothing to be afraid of."</p><p>He half-hoped to hear Ed deny it, tell him he wasn't afraid and to shut up, to show some glimmer of himself. But all he did was whimper and cling to Roy, trying to pull himself back out of the tub. "I'm losing it, Colonel," he said. "I'm losing it, please don't make me do this."</p><p>Roy's heart clenched, but he ignored his pleas. The longer he prolonged this, the worse it would be for him. "I'm going to help you in now, Ed."</p><p>"No, Colonel—"</p><p>Roy very gently, very deliberately picked his slight body up, then put him down in the tub, angling him so his feet went out from underneath him and he had little choice but to sit in the water. Ed let out a strangled cry, holding onto Roy like a drowning cat, and Roy had to lean into the water with him to get him to sit down. Water lapped up between them, soaking Roy's shirt. "See, you're fine," Roy assured him, even though Ed's entire demeanor suggested he was anything but fine. "You're fine, Ed, let go." Maybe this bath idea wasn't one of Roy's best . . .</p><p>Ed didn't seem to hear him. His blind eyes were wide, probably locked somewhere in the past on some unspeakable memory and he wasn't listening. His legs were kicking out uselessly, weakly, as he struggled to find purchase on the bottom of the tub, and he was grasping Roy's shirt with an iron grip.</p><p>"Ed, can you hear me?" Roy asked. Another whimper was all he got in response. "Edward Elric, listen to me!" he snapped in the blond's face.</p><p>Ed went ridged in his arms like a man struck by lightening. His gaze was suddenly clear, but terrified, like he wasn't sure where he was or what was going on. "Al? Mustang?" he asked. "Mustang, what's going on?!"</p><p>"Relax, Ed," he said, in the same tone of voice one used for frightened animals. "You're in the bath, remember? We're just getting you clean."</p><p>"In the bath," Ed repeated numbly.</p><p>"You can let go of me now."</p><p>Ed blinked in confusion, then his eyes widened and he hurriedly released him. The sudden loss of contact had him slipping down, and Roy had to snag his arms to keep him from going under. He set him firmly down, then made sure he would stay there before leaning back, the cold air chilling his wet shirt. "There. How's the water?"</p><p>Ed's hands traced around the tub's edges, seeing what was there without eyes. He found the faucet, the soaps, then his towel that had come loose in the water and was now drifting placidly around his feet. As if suddenly remembering his state, he pulled it up to cover himself, hunching over into the water. "It's fine. You can leave now," he announced.</p><p>Roy pulled the curtain between them, then sat himself on the countertop. "I'm waiting right here."</p><p>Ed didn't respond, so Roy leaned himself back against the mirror to get comfortable. He listened to the gentle lapping of the water as Ed washed, and before he knew it, he started dozing off, the sudden lack of motion reminding him just how tired he was. It had been a long couple of days, and tomorrow was guaranteed to be even more difficult than today. If things kept up like this, he was going to start needing some help around here. There was no way he could juggle Ed, research, and his investigation and still manage the little things like sleeping and eating in between. It was no wonder he was so exhausted.</p><p>And this was probably why he didn't notice Ed stand up in the water until he heard him fall.</p><p>Roy lunged forward, ripping the curtain back to find Ed struggling in the water. Every frantic move just made him lose his grip and plunge under again, and it was all Roy could do to dodge the flailing limbs and grab him by the arms, yanking him up free of the water's grasp and to the safety of the bathmat.</p><p>Ed doubled over, sputtering and choking and spitting up water on the tiled floor, trying to shake Roy off as he did. Roy didn't release him though, concernedly rubbing his back as the boy began vomiting. He hadn't been in the water that long, how had he taken in so much water?! "Easy, Ed! Take it easy!"</p><p>Ed tried again unsuccessfully to get away from him as he wiped his mouth on his automail, blatant fear shining in his eyes. His choking finally slowed, but his body went almost still, as if waiting for something.</p><p>Roy stared with incomprehension as Ed wheezed until he realized what was happening.</p><p>Of course, he only realized what was happening when Ed took a swing at him.</p><p>Roy barely dodged the automail fist, then batted away his next sloppy punch. <em>"Edward, stop this</em>!" Roy snapped, throwing himself at the kid and pinning his arms to his side. It was like trying to hold a live fish, the water on Ed's skin making it difficult for Roy to get a grip on him, but Ed was small and weakened, and once Roy had him trapped against the wall, the fight went out of him pretty quickly. Finally unable to do much more then claw helplessly at Roy's hands, Roy tested the waters. "Fullmetal, do you know where you are?"</p><p>Something clear flickered in Ed's gaze, but then it sank out of sight in the murk. "Mustang, they're coming back," he said, his voice hushed and scared. "They're coming back, and they'll do it again!"</p><p>Perplexed, Roy tried to make sense of this. It was like he was having a flashback, but as far as Roy knew, he had never incorporated any present individual into one before. So, some kind of hallucination, then? Would it be best to play into it and end it slowly, or try to sever it quickly? "Who's coming, Ed? What are they going to do?" he asked, careful to keep his voice levelled and strong. Heaven knew that Ed needed the strength right now.</p><p>Roy could feel the boy's heart sputtering out an unsteady staccato in his chest, his breaths uncoordinated gasps he was trying to keep quiet. His damaged eyes darted back and forth as if trying to see around something. "It'll hurt, <em>please</em>, Colonel!" he begged, either ignoring Roy's question or oblivious to it. Roy wasn't sure what he was asking him to do, but he couldn't let this continue. The boy was in fear for his life, and whether the threat was existent or not, Ed believed it was real. "They're going to find me," he whimpered. "I can't hide, I'm chained here like a dog, and they're going to find me. I can't see . . . <em>I can't see</em> . . ." His trembling hand slipped from Roy's grip and reached for his throat. "It's choking me!" he wailed, his hand searching for a collar long removed. <em>"I can't get away!"</em></p><p>"Ed," Roy said softly. The boy cowered against the wall, but he stilled when Roy spoke. "Let me tell you where we are, alright?" He didn't wait for a response. "We're in Amestris, at my house. You just had dinner and a bath, and after this, you'll be able to go to sleep. How does that sound?"</p><p>Ed's eyes fell shut, then he shuddered. "Why can I still hear them, then? Why is this still around my neck? Where are my clothes?!"</p><p>"Ed, you're having a hallucination," he said patiently. "I promise you that everything is fine. Give it a moment to pass, and everything will be fine."</p><p>"How do I know you're not the hallucination?" he asked, but some of the hysteria was vanishing.</p><p>"Would short jokes help?"</p><p>"Hallucination-Mustang always made short jokes."</p><p>Roy stifled the sudden alarm that rang through his system. Hallucinations? So Ed had experienced hallucinations during his captivity? He had never said anything about it . . . of course, Roy didn't know a fraction of what he had been through, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. The dehydration and starvation alone would do that easily, not to mention the other psychological and physical stresses. He needed to debrief him, and soon, so he would have no more of these surprises. "You hallucinated about me?" he asked, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. "I'm flattered."</p><p>Ed's lips twitched in a pathetic attempt at a smile, but it fell off quickly. He stopped talking, looking as if he were waging war in his mind and couldn't spare the concentration to breathe properly, much less speak. Finally, he relaxed, withering like a sick flower. Then his whole demeanor changed, and Roy was puzzled by it.</p><p>"Is it over?"</p><p>Ed cringed. "You're still here?" he asked, voice subdued and harsh, but different that before somehow. It was an Ed that still had fire in his soul, but he was far from normal. "You sound real."</p><p>Ed was still unsure of where reality was. This had never happened, to Roy's knowledge, and he was sure it had something to do with Alphonse being gone. Ed was mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically run down. His little brother leaving was a big stressor for him, so Roy supposed it was to be expected that some of his symptoms would worsen.</p><p>"That's because I am real," he said, placing a hand on Ed's shoulder to prove it.</p><p>That set him off. He turned sharply, snapping out with teeth and a snarl. "Don't come near me!" he ordered, voice frantic but firm as his hand moved to guard his throat. "Stupid animals! Stay back, or I'll break your faces again!"</p><p>Why wouldn't he snap out of it?! He always had before, once some of the emotion wavered, but now it was like he was stuck in some kind of limbo, information from the present blending seamlessly with the nightmares. Like his brain was trying desperately to sort everything into 'real' and 'not real,' and Roy's side of the world was coming up short. "Ed, do you trust me?" Roy asked suddenly.</p><p>Ed blinked from where he was curled up on the floor. <em>Of course</em>. The cold tile, the lack of clothing, the cold he was undoubtedly experiencing, and perhaps even the sound of his voice—if Ed had actually hallucinated him—were all reminiscent of his captivity. With the flashback he'd had, combined with the information his remaining senses were sending him, it would be much harder for him to differentiate present from past. "Of course I trust you," he murmured, curving into the wall. "As far as people usually trust hallucinations, that is."</p><p>"And how much do people usually trust hallucinations?" he asked, turning to fetch his clothes. He had to destroy the resemblance between now and his imprisonment. He was surprised at how calm Ed was, how chatty. Maybe like he was resigned, or maybe he was remembering something much earlier in his captivity, before things got too bad. Or perhaps he was so desperate for any sort of interaction that didn't end in pain that his own subconscious would do.</p><p>"Well, as far as visitors go, you're not so bad," Ed supplied. "I have worse, anyway."</p><p>"Oh? Who else drops in?" Roy asked. The clothes were all wet from his flailing. Roy couldn't send him to bed with wet clothes; he would catch his death in the state he was in. Still listening intently, he quietly slipped out the door and to the boy's room to fetch another pair of nightclothes. Then, as a second thought, he ran to his room and pulled out the bag of Ed's medication, selecting a long, thin needle filled with glittering fluid. Silias had brought the tranquilizers on his last visit, discreetly handing them to Roy with instructions as he was leaving. Apparently he was concerned about his symptoms worsening with Alphonse's departure and the stress of leaving the house for his psychiatric appointment.</p><p>"The usual," Ed replied, oblivious or uncaring of Roy's going and coming. "You, Alphonse, Winry. Sometimes mom stops by, too, but you seem to come around the most. Even in my dreams you're annoying."</p><p>"So they're hallucinations? " he asked, preparing the needle just in case.</p><p>Ed made a face. "That makes me sound crazy. And I may take your crap at the office, but I'm not taking it from my own subconscious."</p><p>A faint, sad smile tugged at Roy's lips. He missed this Ed. The one that was too strong to break. The one before that strength made him shatter. "I wasn't implying that."</p><p>"I'm not crazy. Just . . . starving and it hurts and it's cold. That'll make anyone's subconscious act up."</p><p>Roy's insides twinged again, the way Ed said those things as if they were still happening and he wasn't safe. "That's true, Ed," he said gently. "I'm going to hand you something, okay?" he said, putting down the needle and bundling Ed's clothes in his hand.</p><p>He wasn't sure, but Ed might have rolled his eyes. "Sure. And while you're at it, I'll take a steak sandwich." His tone was bitterly amused, and he shivered against the tile. Roy needed to hurry before the child got sick, or worse.</p><p>"I'm not the hallucination here," Roy assured him. "So don't panic when you can actually feel these clothes. Hold out your hand."</p><p>Ed didn't move from where he was curled. "You're sure bossy today," he commented, almost idly. "Of all the people I could hallucinate, it had to be you."</p><p>"Edward, hold out your hand." The last thing the boy needed was forcing.</p><p>Ed snorted. "I can't believe I'm following directions from a figment of my imagination." But he extended his real hand, the automail one remaining limp at his side as if it weren't there at all. In his mind, it probably wasn't. "Guess I really am losing it. Wish it wasn't so dark in here. It'd be interesting to see how accurate my subconscious is. Like if you're eyebrows still twitch when I ignore you, or—AH!"</p><p>Ed yanked his hand back as soon as the clothes touched him, sending them flopping against the floor. He cowered against the wall as if under attack, like he could fold himself into it if he pressed hard enough. All vestiges of his former bravado were gone, leaving a scared, sick child in its wake. "Mustang . . . Colonel, are you there?" he whispered, voice hushed.</p><p>"I'm here," Roy assured him.</p><p>"Please don't leave me alone when they come back," he begged.</p><p>Roy's stomach twisted violently, making him dizzy. So during his captivity, he'd hallucinated, figments of his starved mind his only comfort in that dark purgatory, and when he needed them most—when he needed <em>Roy</em>most—they were nowhere to be found. It wasn't fair. "Edward, I want you to listen carefully to what I'm saying. Can you do that?" Ed gave a tiny nod. "Do you know where you are?"</p><p>"The basement," he replied automatically, his voice a fearful whisper. "It's the basement."</p><p>"You're in my bathroom, Ed. At my house." Roy watched the boy's expression disintegrate from fear and pain to confusion, then desperation.</p><p><em>"Shut up!</em> That's not true!" he cried, burying his face in his arm, his cold, wet hair plastering the limb. "I don't need my subconscious mocking me, too, just <em>stop</em>!"</p><p>"This is not a hallucination," Roy said again, keeping his voice calm even as his own heart started to move faster and he picked up the needle. "Trust me, Ed. There are clothes right beside you. Find them and put them on."</p><p>Ed looked conflicted for a moment, but he finally moved, his shaking hand groping blindly beside him until he found the pile of fabric.</p><p>He stilled, closing his eyes in resignation and releasing a long breath. "I . . . the bathroom . . . I'm sorry, Colonel," he whispered. "I lost it again, I'm sorry."</p><p>Roy released a breath of his own, putting the tranquilizer down. He had been one bad reaction away from giving Ed the needle. "It's okay, Ed. No harm done. Are you okay?"</p><p>He looked like he might shake apart if he kept this up. "I'm sorry," he repeated, ignoring the question entirely. "Please don't leave, I'm sorry."</p><p>Roy remembered the boy's hallucinations and fought down a wave of baseless guilt. "Ed, I'm not a hallucination. I won't disappear, I promise."</p><p>Ed didn't seem convinced. His words were becoming more garbled, more hysteric. "I'm trying, but I . . . it doesn't work, nothing I do works . . . <em>why?!</em> It hurts . . . <em>it hurts."</em> He was clawing at his throat now, and Roy grabbed the syringe and alcohol wipe from the countertop again. He hated to do it, hated it with every fiber of his being, but Ed was going to make himself sick or injure himself, and that couldn't happen.</p><p>"There's nothing there, Ed," Roy promised, crouching before him to get a better angle on his exposed bicep. "You need to hurry and get dressed, it's cold in here." He wished he could drape a towel around his thin, soaked form, but didn't dare. Anything Ed didn't expect could push him over the edge, and then Roy wouldn't have a chance to drug him.</p><p>"I need Al," he said, pressing himself into the corner as if somehow sensing the needle. He continued to paw at his throat, raking red lines in the exposed flesh and ripping bandages. "<em>I need him</em>. Please don't leave, I'll try to do better, Colonel, I'll try. I promise."</p><p>Roy felt his heart shatter, and the needle in his hand wavered an inch before the boy. "Edward," he said, his own voice coming out thick. Not at all like he had planned.</p><p>How had it come to this? How had this burning star fallen so far, dimmed so much? The Edward he knew a few months ago would be ashamed of this pitiful creature before him, quivering and helpless like a newborn. It wasn't fair, and Roy was overwhelmed with the injustice of it. Some stars should never burn out. "Edward, no matter what you do, no matter how bad it gets, I'll be here."</p><p>"Alphonse isn't here," he wept, painful tears sliding down his gaunt face. "Al isn't here."</p><p>Something clicked into place for Roy in the moment. As much as Alphonse was trying to help, his departure was abandonment in Ed's eyes. Even if Ed knew that wasn't the case, it felt like it, and to someone as mentally and emotionally damaged as Edward was, logic was a difficult thing to entertain when emotions burned so much brighter. To Ed, it must have looked like everyone was leaving him; his father, then his mother, and finally Alphonse. To him, his family had abandoned him, and all he had in the world was his former superior with not even something as binding as blood to keep him from leaving, too.</p><p>Roy's heart ached for him, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Ed was hysteric and hurting himself, and it had to stop. "I'm going to help you relax, Ed, but first I'm going to put something cold on your shoulder," he said gently. "Don't panic, alright?"</p><p>Ed just nodded numbly, chest jerking with his ragged breathing. He didn't flinch too much when Roy put a halting hand on his shoulder, and the alcohol wipe only made him shudder in discomfort.</p><p>The needle was a different story.</p><p>Roy pushed the needle into the thin muscle and Ed went berserk. He managed to get most of the vial in him before he stood, fast and violent, his expression twisted into panic. "Ed!" The needle fell lose from him, clattering on the floor, then Ed was moving. Roy was between him and the door, and that wasn't stopping him. He sensed the draft and followed it wildly. Roy dodged an automail limb that almost hit his face. "Edward, stop!"</p><p>Either Ed didn't hear him or he didn't care. He slammed his hip into the counter and let out a cry of pain, but kept going into the doorframe, his shoulder bumping into it without slowing him. He staggered into the hall, the drugs robbing what was left of his coordination. His hands splayed in front of him to find something to orient himself with.</p><p>This had been a mistake, and Roy wanted to kick himself. This much stress after all that had happened to him . . . it was no wonder he snapped, and now he had resorted to drugging a child just so he wouldn't hurt himself more than he already had.</p><p>Roy caught up to him, throwing his arms around him and locking him in his grip. Ed screamed and bucked, but without the aid of momentum, his starved, wasted body was helpless against Roy's strength.</p><p>He finally slowed, sobbing terribly as he spent the last of his strength on escape, and when Roy felt the fight leave him, he moved him. Even while struggling, it was laughably easy to turn him around, like a puppet on strings. Roy tucked Ed's head under his own and stroked his dripping hair, listening to the boy cry and twist weakly in his grip. "Shh," he whispered. "Shh, come on, Ed. It will help you relax."</p><p>Ed said something, but it made no sense to Roy. He was sure he heard 'Alphonse' in there somewhere, though. Not long after that, the boy was near catatonic in his arms. Maybe he'd miscalculated the dose. Silas had promised it would relax him, not turn him into a vegetable.</p><p>"Now," Roy said, pushing the boy back away from him to get a look. "Let's get your nightclothes on and go to bed, alright?" he asked. Ed didn't respond except to reach out a hand to fist Roy's shirt and trying to move back in closer for comfort.</p><p>Roy gave him a weak smile he couldn't see, then scooped him up and carried him back to the bathroom. He dried him as best he could, dressed him with minimal effort, then put him to bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, body limp as Roy tucked him in.</p><p>That something once so strong and proud should become so broken and diminished . . . it wasn't right.</p><p>Roy sat on the side of the bed, watching the small boy breathe in and out and decided that if there were any way for him to trade places with the kid, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Ed didn't deserve this. He was a child, a boy without parents, and now without his little brother. He was well and truly alone, putting all the trust he could manage into one Colonel Roy Mustang. He had no choice but to surrender fully, and Roy had no choice but to do the best he knew how to get him through this.</p><p>Whatever it took, he'd do it.</p><p>He stood vigil a bit longer before finally leaving the room. Ed's first appointment was tomorrow, and there were preparations to make.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the days for it to snow, it had to be the day Ed had to get out in it.</p><p>Roy stared outside the window, watching fat, fluffy flakes drift down to join their brethren in a hostile takeover of his backyard. The world was already dusted in the stuff, with only the tallest of grass blades able to reach up from beneath it, but soon even those would be gone, and it would be completely white outside.</p><p>He hated the snow. He hated the wind, he hated the wet, he hated the cold, and he <em>hated the snow</em>.</p><p>And now, after what Ed had been through, Roy was fairly certain he shared his sentiments, and possibly surpassed them.</p><p>He glanced over at his charge, the blond boy sitting quietly at the table as he alternated between poking at his breakfast and massaging his head. Roy winced at that. It had been difficult to wake him up that morning, the tranquilizers unwilling to relinquish their hold on his small system, and it seemed to be causing him headaches. Regardless of that, after a phone call to Silas, Roy had plans to slip another mild sedative into his lunch right before his appointment. Despite the potential of making him less coherent, Silas hoped that it would make the experience of leaving the house and meeting strangers much less stressful, and therefore more likely to succeed.</p><p>"Ed?" Roy asked.</p><p>Despite the boy knowing very well that Roy was close, he drew back, inhaling sharply at the nearness of Roy's voice. Since last night, he seemed to be blatantly mistrusting of Roy, tensing up when he came too close, as if afraid Roy now walked around with tranquilizers in his pocket, just waiting for the opportunity to strike. Of course, still under the influence of the drugs, his reactions seemed to be less intense fear and more reflexive response than anything.</p><p>"Stay away from me," he demanded flatly, going back to cradling his head in his prosthetic hand.</p><p>Roy studied him with a frown. "Is there a reason you're so jumpy this morning?" he asked casually, wondering if Ed would give him a straight answer.</p><p>The boy stared sullenly at nothing, silver fingers clawing around his bangs. "You . . . you stabbed me."</p><p>"<em>That</em> is a gross exaggeration, Fullmetal," Roy informed, but he was bemused nevertheless. Normally, Roy would expect him to be terrified, if that was how he had perceived the event, but perhaps the drugs were truly numbing all of those intense emotions. "Besides, it was necessary."</p><p>Ed looked visibly upset at this, the metal spoon in his automail bending almost imperceptibly in his inhuman grip. Roy winced for his cutlery. "Ed?"</p><p>"I'm not—" his voice caught, and he blinked quickly and inhaled before continuing. "I'm not a dumb animal that you can just knock out whenever you feel like it. I'm <em>not</em>, Mustang!" he turned as if to look Roy in the eye but falling miserably short. As if realizing this, he turned back to the table in disgust, shoulders ridged as he initiated a blind glaring contest with his scrambled eggs.</p><p>This was new . . . strange, even. Edward demanding things wasn't new in itself, but there was something different about this. Ed in the past would be stubborn and make his wants and needs known loudly and in the most abrasive manner imaginable. This 'demand,' though, was different. It was as if he knew good and well he wasn't capable of being a threat anymore. He was expressing his displeasure with his treatment, but the threats and self-righteous anger were heartbreakingly absent. It was the way a child tells you it doesn't like something, all the while knowing that something would happen regardless of its preferences. Roy didn't like the way he just assumed he was going to lose.</p><p>Before this mess, Roy wouldn't have believed it to be within his personality to assume defeat. Had he fallen so far that so little was left? Was part of this somehow Roy's doing? It was as if one small needle had set him back miles, shattering his every illusion of safety as effectively as if Roy had put a gun to his head.</p><p>"Edward," Roy began carefully. "You know I didn't do it just because I could. I did it so you wouldn't hurt yourself."</p><p>Ed looked like he was trying very hard not to break something, his frustration a visible force that tightened his shoulders and jaw like coiled springs. "That's right," he hissed, voice dripping with malice and hatred that made Roy's blood freeze. Where had that come from? "I'm out of my head, so just dart me until it passes. Or why don't you just tie me down?" His voice was gaining momentum as he spoke, words tumbling out like an overflowing river. "You could chain me to the wall. It's harder to hurt yourself that way, isn't it? I would know—I couldn't manage to kill myself in three months. Wouldn't it be so much easier that way? You wouldn't even have to watch me; just go to work and live your life like before I showed up! <em>Is that what you want?!"</em> he snarled. "Is it?! Who's stopping you? It's certainly not me! You can do whatever you want to me and there's not a thing I can do about it, so go ahead and chain me up like a dog! Go ahead! I didn't ask for your help, Mustang, so <em>just do whatever you want!"</em></p><p>Roy wasn't sure what possessed him to do it. Maybe he was just deprived of sleep, or under too much stress, or perhaps so angry that he had lost all sense of reason.</p><p>Or maybe he just couldn't stand the stark reality of it all being thrown in his face.</p><p>Either way, his quivering fists slammed down on the table. The clap echoed through the kitchen like a gunshot and Ed froze like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide in panic. He didn't know what the sound was, and Roy didn't have the patience to tell him. <em>"That's enough, Fullmetal</em>," Roy hissed, his voice shaking as much as his fists. How <em>could</em> he? How could the boy dare insinuate such a thing? Roy knew he wasn't perfect, and he knew he made plenty of mistakes and would make plenty more, but he was trying! He was doing the best he could!</p><p>But maybe, just maybe, he felt a bit guilty. A small voice in the back of his head quietly reminded him that it was his fault Ed was in the state he was, and Ed had every right to hate him. Roy just didn't think he could stand it if he did.</p><p>Roy turned and stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He didn't bother to say a word to Ed, driven by a single-minded desire to get out of the room before he did something he regretted.</p><p>His jaw felt like it would snap under the tension. Emotions were raging inside of him like they hadn't in a long time. Anger and guilt fought for dominance, and instead of either, he just ended up feeling repulsed. He stormed into his room and slammed the door shut behind him, brutishly satisfied with the heavy clap that reverberated through the house. It might have been juvenile, but he didn't care. He didn't care because at this point, what else could he possibly screw up?</p><p>He sank to his bed as his adrenaline faded, burning his anger off with it and leaving him feeling tired and empty. He sighed, laying back into the down comforter and staring blankly at the ceiling. What was he supposed to do? What more <em>could</em> he do? It seemed like everything he did made things worse for Ed; like he simply couldn't win for loosing.</p><p>He wished Alphonse hadn't left. Logically, he knew that if there was any chance at all that he could find a way to fix Ed's eyes, then of course he had to take it, but Roy was drowning. He was burned out and felt exhausted and confused and incapable. And none of it was Ed's fault.</p><p>Yes . . . none of it was Ed's fault and he had just snapped at him. Snapped at him like he was well and whole and had nothing to complain about.</p><p>Edward had <em>everything</em> to complain about. If there was anyone who deserved to be able to drown in self-pity, it was Ed.</p><p>And yet, he wasn't drowning. Despite everything, he was fighting it. Yes, it was passive-aggressively, not at all the way Ed usually fought, but he wasn't quitting. He had some weak moments, but everyone did. In his mind, his trust had been betrayed, and that was Roy's fault.</p><p>Roy massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands. He was such an idiot.</p><p>He cast a weary gaze at the analogue clock. He still had a few hours until Ed's appointment. That was plenty of time to make a phone call.</p><p>He picked up the phone by his bedside, tired fingers clumsily dialing the number, and he had to hang up and retry to get the numbers entered properly before the phone was ringing. A painfully chipper secretary picked up, took his code and forwarded him.</p><p>"First Lieutenant Hawkeye," came the strong, detached voice.</p><p>Roy could almost feel some of the tension drain away at the sound. Something about her voice always took the edge off. Her voice promised strength and stability, and he found himself latching onto it like a drowning man to a life raft.</p><p>He didn't know what he would do without her.</p><p>"Hello?" she said again, this time sounding a bit more focused and a bit annoyed, and Roy realized he had let the silence stretch for just a moment longer than acceptable.</p><p>"Riza," he greeted, sounding weak and worn and the complete opposite of his Lieutenant. If he had possessed the energy, he might have been surprised at the way her first name had so effortlessly rolled off his lips, but as it was, he merely noted the fact with a numb sort of interest.</p><p>"Colonel," she responded, not acknowledging the break in protocol at all. "Did you forget your paperwork?"</p><p>A faint smirk lifted his lips. "No, I think I have everything. I was just calling to check in on the office. How's the team?"</p><p>"You've been gone just over a day, sir," Hawkeye said patiently, in the same tone of voice one uses to point out the obvious.</p><p>He rubbed a hand over his face again. "I know that," he said with some resignation. Just over a day here by himself and he was already making a mess of things. At least under Hawkeye's watch, the team would be managing just fine without him.</p><p>"And how is Edward?"</p><p>Roy took a moment to gather his thoughts, the confession stalling in his throat before he finally forced it out. "I . . . I don't know, Riza. I really messed up yesterday."</p><p>She didn't sound surprised, but he wasn't offended because she never did. "What happened?" she asked, voice more gentle than Roy felt he warranted.</p><p>Roy told her what had happened, and she listened quietly until he finished.</p><p>"Apologize."</p><p>Roy blinked. "That's it? That's all you have for me?"</p><p>"You crossed a line. You admitted it yourself."</p><p>"Yes, but I don't think apologizing is just going to make this all go away."</p><p>"You'd be surprised," she said wryly. He could almost hear the subtext: <em>men are idiots</em>. "He needs to know that you understand you were wrong."</p><p>"Riza, I don't—"</p><p>"I have to go now," she said quickly, the barest trace of longsuffering entering her voice. "It seems that First Lieutenants Havoc and Breda have set fire to something. I'll stop by later this evening." And before he could get another word in, she hung up.</p><p>He listened to the dial tone for a moment, then set the phone back in its cradle, eyes wondering warily to the closed door.</p><p>He wasn't ready to leave the sanctuary of his room. He wasn't ready to have to face Ed, to try to help him only to get that cold demeanor, the one that was foreign and painful to Roy. It reminded him that he deserved Ed's hate. He deserved the boy's scorn and distrust. There was nothing he could do to make it better, no matter what Hawkeye said.</p><p>On the other hand . . . well, women usually had a second sense about these things, right? It couldn't hurt, anyway. And maybe she was right; maybe it would help.</p><p>He had nothing to lose except his pride, and it was high time he lost some of that.</p><p>With a tired exhale, Roy got up and left his room, ready to head downstairs with an ill-formed apology on his lips. His body felt like it was full of sand, dread and anticipation making it hard to convince it to move anywhere, much less toward the source if his anxiety. All of that was forgotten when he found Ed, though.</p><p>He almost tripped over him before he saw him. He was curled up near the top of the stairs against the wall, as if he had made to follow Roy but something sent him to his knees before he had actually found him. He had his face buried in his blanket like it was some kind of shield, and he was whispering something past broken sobs into its softness.</p><p>All of Roy's anxiety crumbled away. He immediately knelt down on the top stair, near the boy's face. "Edward?" he asked gently. "Can you hear me?"</p><p>The sobbing tapered off, only a few little gasps reminding Roy that he had heard it at all. Other than that, Ed made no move or sound to acknowledge Roy's presence.</p><p>Now what?</p><p>Deciding that this could take a while, Roy maneuvered himself into a sitting position, his back protesting and reminding him sullenly of how he had fallen asleep in an awkward sprawl across the couch the other night. "I guess you're not speaking to me," Roy said mildly, leaning to rest his shoulder against the wall. "I guess that's alright, though. I probably deserve it."</p><p>Ed made no reaction, and Hawkeye's advice suddenly replayed in Roy's mind. "I . . ." the words stalled, and Roy had to shoulder past a wall of uncertainty to get them out. "About last night . . . I think that you should know—"</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"—that what I did was . . ." It took Roy's brain a long, painful second to catch up. "Wait, what?"</p><p>Ed hadn't moved a muscle, but Roy was certain that he had heard him speak. He waited until he was sure that he was imagining things, and was about to continue on with his speech, but then he heard the tiny voice again and bent forward to better hear.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Colonel . . . I'm sorry," he whispered into the blanket, voice rough from tears. The sudden apology startled the words from Roy's mind. Why was he apologizing? What on earth did he have to apologize for?</p><p>"I know . . . I know it's not your fault," Ed continued, still not raising his head. There was a distinctive numbness to the child's voice, the scientists' side of his brain trying desperately to put distance between himself and something that was probably very difficult to say. "None of this is your fault, especially Al . . . especially Al leaving, and even last night. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you. You shouldn't have to put up with me anyway. You could kick me to the curb, and . . . and after all the crap I do and say to you, I wouldn't blame you . . . I wouldn't blame you.</p><p>"But . . ." the word hung in the air, heavy and hopeful. "But if you can just be patient with me . . . just a little longer, I would appreciate it, because . . . because I need you."</p><p>Roy stared.</p><p>Ed needed him?</p><p><em>Edward Elric</em> needed <em>him?</em></p><p>If only Ed knew how condemning those words were. If only Ed knew what had put him in this situation in the first place. It was Roy's fault. It was entirely Roy's fault, and here Ed was, apologizing to <em>him</em>, saying he needed <em>him</em>. It was like a lamb relying on a wolf for protection, and it made Roy's insides twist in self-loathing.</p><p>But Roy knew something that Ed didn't.</p><p>Roy was selfish. Roy had screwed up in unimaginable ways, but still, he wanted Ed close, as if he could somehow atone for himself. As if fulfilling the promise he had made to Alphonse would erase his sins completely.</p><p>Roy knew that he wasn't just helping Edward for Edward's sake.</p><p>And before Roy could even fully process it, his eyes were brimming with bitter tears and they were spilling down his face and he was unable to stop it.</p><p>Edward was still speaking, but he slowly trailed off. Roy hadn't even been listening, but he noticed the pause. He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was closed and he couldn't get anything but a halting breath out. "Colonel?" Ed asked, uncertain. He finally picked up his head, and through Roy's blurred and burning vision, he could see the concern on the boy's tearstained face.</p><p>Edward had gone to the depths of purgatory and back, and he still showed Roy concern. Roy Mustang, the Idiot Colonel the boy claimed to hate, and Roy wished he would. Roy didn't deserve Ed's concern. He didn't deserve the child to show him even the barest glimpse of trust or compassion or kindness.</p><p>Slowly, Ed reached out a frail hand. Roy watched the indistinct form move across the carpeted stairs, beside him, sliding to the side until it bumped up against his hand. Then it hesitantly patted Roy's in an awkward but gentle, supportive gesture, and Roy lost it completely.</p><p>A tortured sob wrenched his chest. He felt his self-hatred like a hot iron in his gut and it burned. It was too much, much too much and he wished that he was a different human being all together. One as strong and pure as Edward or Alphonse, or someone as faithful and patient as Hawkeye, or even one as gentle and kind as Feury. Anything but the monster he was, bloodstained hands that burned everything they touched and laid waste to all that dared come close.</p><p>He didn't have the right to take care of Ed. He didn't have the right to become Fuhrer. He deserved nothing but scorn and hatred. He wasn't even a decent enough man to reject Ed's comfort. He was undeserving, but he couldn't push the hand away, no matter how much he tried, the need for redemption overriding any other sense of responsibility he should have had.</p><p>"Colonel, what's wrong?" Ed asked, and there was something in his voice that Roy hadn't heard in a long, long time: c<em>onfidence</em>. It was diminished, but it was there, and Roy barely stopped the confession from spilling from his lips at the command.</p><p>That's right; Edward had practically <em>ordered</em> Roy to tell him what was wrong.</p><p>Edward slowly took his hand back, then positioned it under his body and carefully lifted himself up. He didn't bother getting to his feet, but he crawled to the top step beside Roy and sat down next to him, blanket shrouding him like a cape.</p><p>He sat beside him, not close enough to touch, but close enough for Roy to feel his presence. He didn't ask anything else, and Roy didn't volunteer anything else. They just sat at the top of the stairs until Roy had finished, and it reminded Roy of that night in Ed's dorm when Ed had found out he was being discharged, except now their roles were reversed and Ed was the strong one. Edward was the strength that Roy didn't have, and Roy couldn't even find it in himself to feel as horrified as he probably should have.</p><p>It seemed like a long time before Roy got himself under control. He wiped his bare hand across his face, trying to clear the tracks of moisture away. A small, sad sort of laugh slipped past his lips and Ed gave him a questioning look aimed somewhere over his head. "Pretty pathetic, aren't we?" Roy asked into the empty living room below.</p><p>Tears were still drying on the boy's own face, but his lips quirked the barest bit. "Speak for yourself, old man."</p><p>Roy laughed again with a bit more mirth this time. Then he sobered. "Ed, you have nothing to apologize for." He opened his mouth to say more, but stopped. He wasn't ready for everything yet . . . not yet . . . small steps first.</p><p>"What I did to you last night . . . what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have done it. It should have been a last resort, and there are other things I could have done first. I was just . . . scared and worried, I guess. I just wanted you to calm down and I was wrong, and . . . I'm sorry."</p><p>Ed seemed a bit surprised by the confession. He didn't say anything for a moment, sightless eyes staring at the ground as he seemed to be considering something. "I . . . I understand if you want to drug me . . ." he said hesitantly, and Roy noticed the fear lacing his voice at the mention of it. He was willing to do it, even if it scared him, because being on his own was even more frightening than being in the disoriented haze that Roy had subjected him to. "I know I'm probably a lot easier to handle that way . . . so if you want to—"</p><p>Roy tried to ignore the feeling of a knife twisting in his gut. "Absolutely not. It's a last resort, like I said."</p><p>Ed let out a tense breath in relief, bending his forehead to rest on his knees. "Okay. Thank you."</p><p>Roy wasn't sure how, but his arm soon found its way around the boy's shoulders, pulling him close in a protective embrace. Ed started in surprise, but finally relented, relaxing into the hug and letting his head rest on Roy's shoulder.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Roy murmured again, the words coming unbidden. "But . . . if you'll be patient with me just a little while longer . . . I'd appreciate it."</p><p>
  <em>Because . . . I need you, too.</em>
</p><p>As if hearing what Roy couldn't voice, Ed smiled. It was the first real smile Roy had seen in months.</p><p>Roy's responding smile quivered and crumbled.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed couldn't remember a time when he had seen Mustang cry.</p><p>Well, technically, he still had never <em>seen</em> Mustang cry, but he knew it was happening. Even as Ed's own tears were drying, he heard the older man start to weep and could smell the salt of his tears.</p><p>At first, Ed was shocked, certain that he was hearing wrong, his mind playing tricks on him again, because the Colonel simply didn't cry. The man was a machine, almost invincible, and at one time, Ed had convinced himself that he was completely heartless.</p><p>Logically, Ed new better than that, but this had driven the point home. He wasn't the only one with problems. He wasn't the only one struggling.</p><p>Mustang was just as human as he was, and somehow, this revelation changed things. It was like walking down a dark forest path, and when the night was at its blackest, realizing that someone was there, walking by your side the whole time.</p><p>And despite his handicap, despite his little brother being gone, and despite everything the man had done, Ed didn't feel quite so alone anymore.</p><p>He almost felt . . . safe.</p><p>Beside him, the Colonel let out a heavy sigh. "Well, guess that's enough of that," he said, voice still thick from moments before. His shoulder was warm underneath Ed's temple and helped ease the aching chill that usually settled deep in his bones. Even though he generally disliked contact of any kind, he decided that this wasn't so bad. It didn't hurt, and he could pull away from it whenever he wanted, unless Mustang didn't release him. But he wasn't even all that concerned about it, which almost bothered him in itself. Surely he needed to be more vigilant? Months of ingrained paranoia and terror shouldn't be so easily undone by shared tears and a hug.</p><p>Ed was weak and vulnerable to a terrifying extent. He shouldn't let the older man so close, no matter what he said. Alphonse was gone now, after all. When he was still around, Ed had found it in himself to extend the Colonel a measure of trust, but now things were different. He was alone here, and already Mustang had betrayed him, drugging him when he was practically helpless. He had no reason to trust him if as soon as his little brother was gone, he immediately took advantage of him. Alphonse would have never allowed it, and it scared him that he had been powerless to stop it, and it had been so easy for Mustang to overpower him. Added on top of that, the drugs had turned him into a mindless zombie. Mustang could have done all manner of things to him, and Ed would have been completely unaware and unable to stop him.</p><p>He understood why, and he couldn't entirely blame him for it. He knew as well as anyone that he could get out of hand when his mind slipped, but . . . well, it had scared him. The lack of control was terrifying, given his preexisting vulnerability. His mind was his last defense, and any missed detail could make the difference between being safe and being back in that basement again.</p><p>And yet . . . with Mustang's arm around his shoulder and the scent of his tears in the air, Ed felt safe enough to fall asleep there, trusting the older man to watch over his resting body. Why? Did he really think Mustang was all that remorseful over the whole thing? Or maybe this went deeper than Ed knew and all he was seeing was the tip of the iceberg.</p><p>Mustang had promised not to do it again, something that, despite Ed's compulsive offer to allow it, made him weak with relief. He'd said he was wrong, promised he would try. He'd asked for Ed's patience, like Ed had asked for his. How could Ed deny him that when he had done nothing but try? How could he continue to be so suspicious of the man that had found him, carried him out of purgatory when he was starved and naked and raving like a rabid animal? He had stayed by his side when he had nothing to gain from it . . . how could Ed continue to treat him the way he had?</p><p>All he knew was that he had the irrational instinct to make Mustang feel better, to make his life easier, and he didn't like it. It made him feel manipulated somehow.</p><p>He shook his head. None of his thoughts made sense! The stupid tranquilizers were still screwing with him. His mind was jumping all over the place.</p><p>"Are you alright, Ed?" Mustang asked, gentle concern in his voice.</p><p>He resisted the urge to pull back. He didn't like feeling confused, and the Colonel's kindness wasn't helping.</p><p>"I'm fine." After a moment's thought, he asked, "Are you okay?"</p><p>He could hear the smile in the older man's weakened voice. "Fine. I guess we should go get ready for your appointment. We only have a couple of hours."</p><p>Ed did his best to clamp down on a panic attack by redirecting his thoughts to something else. He'd have to have lunch first before he would have to leave the house. That's right, he didn't have to leave the house yet. He didn't have to go out around all those strangers and new environments he didn't recognize and that awful, biting cold that was so terribly similar to that basement . . .</p><p>"Ed?"</p><p>"Uh, yeah. I'll go . . . change." He hated how reluctant his body was to move away from Mustang, from the safety of it, but he quickly forced himself to pull away, struggling to his feet as the blanket wrapped around his legs.</p><p>A strong hand steadied him at the elbow and it was a tremendous force of will to not flinch away from the iron grip.</p><p>"Do you need some help?" Mustang asked. Ed could practically feel the critical stare drilling holes in his forehead.</p><p>Ed quickly and easily slipped into the comfortable role he'd built for himself. It was back to stable, familiar ground where he knew what to say and how to say it. He could be annoyed with Mustang. It was second nature to him, and it felt a lot more reliable than the strange thoughts and emotions still buzzing inside of his head. "You don't think I can dress myself?" Ed demanded irritably, but his voice was still muddled from tears and took some of the edge off of his growl.</p><p>"Fullmetal," Mustang sighed. Despite his tone, there was some lightness to his voice now, and though it was shadowed, Ed could tell he'd found the familiar arguing more comfortable, too. "You're wearing <em>brown</em>trousers and a <em>black</em> shirt."</p><p>Ed scowled at that, floundering for an excuse. Before Alphonse had left, he would set out matching clothes for him every morning, then let him dress himself. This was the first morning he had tried to find his own clothes, and he honestly hadn't been too worried about it. He didn't really own much clothing, and what little he had was predominantly black, so he had been pretty confident in picking out an ensemble that matched. He went by texture of clothe; he remembered his black dress slacks were smooth and fine, he had two sweaters, one red and made of coarse yarn, the other black and soft. He had several pair of black and brown trousers and he couldn't recall much of a difference in texture, so he had guessed. He only had about eight winter shirts, and of those, over half of them were black, so he grabbed the one that felt the most worn and hoped it worked.</p><p>"When did you join the fashion police?"</p><p>"I'm just trying to help. I know you're <em>stunted</em> anyway when it comes to fashion sense, but you look as put together as a preschooler's painting."</p><p>"I'm <em>not</em> short! And you try matching colors blind!" he snapped, jerking his arm back and stalking back up the stairs and down the hall. His stalking now was more of a slightly-more-motivated shuffle, but it conveyed his irritation all the same. Stupid smug jerk.</p><p>"That's my point," Mustang said, coming up right behind him. "I know you have no fashion sense anyway, but let me at least help you be presentable."</p><p>"Look who's talking. You wear a uniform with a <em>butt cape</em>."</p><p>"I was not consulted on the uniform's design when they were issued twenty years ago. It's hardly my fault." Mustang put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and guiding him inside his room when he missed the turn off. "But you wear that tacky red coat by choice, and that's the real offense here."</p><p>Ed mumbled under his breath and allowed Mustang to sit him on the edge of the bed while he listened to the older man rifle through the dresser drawers and tried not to feel intruded upon. It was one thing to admit to needing some help, but accepting that help was another matter entirely, and right now, a man that Ed had formerly believed wouldn't have had a second thought about setting him on fire if he made him mad enough was going through his drawers in an attempt to find him matching clothes. There was something unsettling about it, like letting a stray dog in the house and giving it free reign, uncertain if it will be grateful for the trust extended to it, or rip your throat out while you slept.</p><p>His mind told him that he was alone here. With Alphonse not around to be his eyes, he simply had to be careful.</p><p>But something else in him said that Mustang had already proven himself, that he had been walking this dark path for as long as Ed had and maybe he even knew the way out, if only Ed could trust him enough to follow.</p><p>"Are these all you have?"</p><p>Jolted from his thoughts, Ed had to think a moment to make sense of the question. "Yeah. I never really needed more than that when we traveled all the time. We mostly just lived out of that suitcase."</p><p>Mustang seemed to consider this for a moment. "We should see about getting you a few things. Maybe something <em>not</em> black."</p><p>Ed scowled. "I like black. It's none of your business, anyway."</p><p>"Some of these are looking a bit threadbare, though, and dare I say it: it looks like your trousers might be just a bit short."</p><p>
  <em>"I'm not short!"</em>
</p><p>"That's not what I sa—"</p><p>"And I can always just trans . . . trans . . ." he stopped. The word <em>transmute</em> stuttered and died on his lips and he remembered the last time he had transmuted anything. He was in the basement, and the hunger and the pain and the cold were starting to take a toll on his body. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten anything of substance, and the stone floor and walls bit painfully into his rapidly-thinning body. Everything hurt, and then there were those stupid mutts. How long had he been stuck down here with them? Weeks? Months? It was hard to tell, but Ed was certain of one thing; he had endured his fill. He was tired of waiting for rescue, tired of hoping that someone would find him and take him home. He was on his last legs, so to speak, and if he didn't get out of here soon, he wouldn't have the strength to do it.</p><p>
  <em>"Edward!"</em>
</p><p>Ed flinched, suddenly brilliantly conscious of the soft mattress beneath him and the smell of Mustang's house and the lack of blood and incredible pain. Not the basement. Not the basement, not the basement, not the basement!</p><p>"Sorry," he breathed, shaking his head, trying to dispel the images and sensations of being back there. "I'm sorry." No one responded, and he felt a thrill of panic. "Mustang?"</p><p>"Right here, Ed," the older man responded, not far in front of him. "Are you okay?"</p><p>Ed shuddered and pulled the blanket around himself, feeling the comforting weight of it around his shoulders that helped him fight off the chill of his memories. "Fine." He hated the way his voice trembled, some distant part of him hoping Mustang wouldn't think less of him for it. Then he recalled with disgust that Mustang had seen far worse and tried to fold in on himself, wrapping his whole body up in the fabric and curling up on his side at the foot of the bed.</p><p>It was no wonder Alphonse and Mustang both thought he needed to go see a shrink. Look at him! A <em>word</em> had sent him over the edge! A word!</p><p>He was so tired of this . . . of everything. He was tired of feeling humiliated and helpless. Of being confused and afraid. He wasn't safe asleep or awake, and he could feel his mind starting to fray even further, separate realities warring for dominance and tearing him apart. Alphonse was the balm for it all, the threads that kept him together, but he felt his brother's absence like a hole in his spirit and he wasn't sure if he could move past it, or even if he wanted to.</p><p>The bed suddenly dipped near his head and Ed shied away from it, scrunching and retreating under his blanket.</p><p>"Ed?" the strong, very familiar baritone asked, and Ed forced himself to relax, forcing away the telling tension that made Mustang nervous and worried. For some reason, it bothered Ed that Mustang worried. "It's okay, Ed."</p><p>A warm weight settled on his shoulder and he fought past a shudder. It wasn't okay. If it were okay, he wouldn't be blind, Al would be there, and he wouldn't be on his way to see a shrink because his mind had turned into his own personal purgatory.</p><p>But he didn't have it in him to tell Mustang. He was too tired, his brain too foggy, and Mustang would only give him one of his pep talks. Ed wasn't in the mood.</p><p>"Come on, Ed," Mustang said, purposely making his voice soothing, like he was talking with a wild animal. "If you're okay, you need to get ready. We'll have to leave soon."</p><p>Ed absently wondered if Mustang would go away if he ignored him.</p><p>"Do you need me to help you dress?"</p><p>Well, Mustang certainly knew how to get him motivated. "Get out," he mumbled, slowly dragging himself to a sitting position. He'd had his fill of coddling and being 'helped,' though if his afternoon's schedule was anything to go by, there was probably going to be a lot more of it before the day was up. Ed was certain that leaving the relative safety of the house was going to be disastrous.</p><p>The thought of it made him shiver and almost had him cowering under the blanket again.</p><p>Mustang made a noise, as if about to say something, but stopped himself.</p><p>It took Ed a moment to calm down. "I'll meet you downstairs," he promised finally, not moving as he waited to hear Mustang's reaction to his declaration.</p><p>Mustang hesitated, then the bed shifted and he stood by the bedside. "Are you sure you don't need help?"</p><p>"I can dress myself just fine, Colonel," he said, trying to force some fire into his voice and failing miserably. He just sounded tired and beaten and he loathed it.</p><p>Again, Mustang paused, as if he were about to point out how blatantly incapable Ed was of doing anything, no matter how simple the task. Ed was preparing a searing reply to any objection he might have, but Mustang only said, "Alright. I'll see you downstairs in a minute."</p><p>The older man reluctantly left Ed by himself. Ed listened, but when Mustang left, he didn't shut the door, and Ed couldn't help but notice his footsteps never faded down the stairs. Ed supposed he couldn't blame him for hovering, though. Maybe the only stray dog in the house was Ed, and even Ed himself wasn't sure when he would bite next.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy was glad that he had allowed plenty of time for Ed's limitations when he tried to get Ed to the car.</p><p>The boy was currently frozen in the entryway, blind eyes wide as he struggled with the notion of going out in the cold, a sensation that was most likely terribly reminiscent of his time in Drachma. His red coat was absent, lost sometime during his capture no doubt, and around his shoulders he wore one of Roy's old woolen overcoats. It dwarfed him in its volume, but despite that, Ed had his blanket gathered in his arms like a child with a teddy bear. If Ed had been more himself, he would have died of humiliation then and there, being seen dragging a "blanky" around like that, but as it was, it was a tenuous link to the rational world, and if that's what it took to keep him here, Roy would gladly put up with it.</p><p>"I'm going to open the door now, alright?" Roy asked. At Ed's panicked look, he quickly amended, "We don't have to go out in it yet. We'll just stand here for a while. Does that sound okay?"</p><p>Ed stared. "I . . ." His voice failed him and he closed his mouth and swallowed, giving Roy a small, weak nod instead.</p><p>Now apprehensive, Roy mentally braced himself and slowly eased the door open. Icy wind immediately snaked through the crack, dragging in a tide of snowflakes and winter misery. Ed gasped and backed away from the cold, retreating several steps before Roy stepped forward to grab his arm and stop him. It had taken monumental effort to get Ed this far, and they didn't have time for any more setbacks.</p><p>Ed didn't take the contact well. He yelped in surprise and terror and tried to tear away from Roy's grip. "Hey," Roy said, trying to keep his voice steady as he slipped behind the boy and wrapped his arms around him to keep him from punching his lights out.</p><p>At the sound of his voice and with Roy's arms holding the child close, he felt some of the tension drain away from Ed's shoulders, and he couldn't help but feel a bit pleased by the fact that his touch brought comfort instead of panic. Maybe he was making some progress after all if independent, standoffish Edward Elric felt more secure there in his embrace than relying on his own impaired senses to keep him safe.</p><p>At the same time, he couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage of Ed's handicapped mind. If Mustang hadn't of sent him off North, Ed would have never needed this or consented to it, and the divergence from how Mustang would have expected him to act months ago and how he acted now made it very clear. He had turned a once proud, unstoppable force into a crippled, broken spirit. Roy wanted to bring him comfort, but at the same time, he desperately wished the boy didn't need it.</p><p>"Hey, there's nothing to be afraid of," Roy promised gently, shoving his thoughts aside. He had more pressing matters to focus on at the moment.</p><p>"I can't do this, Mustang. I can't do it," he said, the words a frightened rush. His hand that wasn't holding the blanket grabbed Roy's arm with fear-driven intensity. "I'll get lost . . . I can't stay here, my mind won't stay, don't make me do this, <em>please!</em>"</p><p>"Shh, Ed." Roy stroked his hair back and hoped the touch was soothing. "Have I ever asked you to do something I didn't think you could handle?"</p><p>The blond shook his head. "This isn't the same! <em>I'm</em> not the same! There's got to be another way . . . I can't stay here if I go out there!"</p><p>"Ed, you're not making sense," Roy interrupted. "Come on, that's enough stalling, don't you think? We're going to miss your appointment."</p><p>"Fine! We can miss it, just don't make me do this!" he whimpered, backing into Roy as if seeking protection instead of escape. "<em>Please</em>, Mustang." His voice broke, and with it Roy's heart.</p><p>How could he possibly make Ed walk out in that weather when he was so terrified? What kind of monster was he, to expect Ed to face his fears alone?</p><p>"Do you trust me, Edward?"</p><p>The question seemed to take Ed by surprise. His struggling ceased and he blinked, as if forgetting what was going on entirely.</p><p>"I . . . I don't . . ."</p><p>The hesitation hurt more than Roy was willing to admit, but he had brought it upon himself. The stunt he had pulled the night before had put a rift between them, and even though their conversation on the staircase had taken steps to repair it, it would take more than that to fix what Roy had done.</p><p>So Roy would compromise. "Can you try?"</p><p>At this, Ed gave a slow nod.</p><p>It was a start, anyway.</p><p>"Good. I have a plan. I promise you that I will not let anything happen to you, no matter what, understand?"</p><p>"What are you going to do?" Ed asked, voice trembling with apprehension.</p><p>"Give me the blanket," Roy ordered, plucking it from his hand while he was distracted.</p><p>Ed let out a desperate cry, the suddenness of it almost startling Roy into dropping the fabric. He knew the boy was attached to the blanket, seemingly relying on it to keep his sanity as much as he relied on food to keep him alive, but he hadn't anticipated such an intense reaction to its unexpected absence. Ed blindly flailed, hands searching for the stolen comfort. "Edward, hold on!" Roy snapped, one arm dedicated to restraining Ed as the other unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around the boy, coat and all. Ed hushed once it was back, some of the raw fear abated with its familiar weight around him and his fingers dug into the folds, unwilling to part with it anytime in the near future.</p><p>With a sigh, Roy situated the blanket so it was covering everything but his face. "I'm going to carry you to the car. I won't let go until you're safe inside. Do you think that might work?"</p><p>What little light that was in Ed's gaze seemed to die, replaced by a bone-weary expression that would have looked more at home on a visage thrice Ed's age. It was disconcerting, seeing emotions flipping back and forth across Ed's face like pages of a book, his rational self showing up suddenly in the wake of his mindless fear, the way the eye of a storm settles the surface of a wind-torn lake. "Mustang . . . can we . . . can we please just cancel?" he asked, voice so meek it belonged more to someone like Alphonse.</p><p>"Ed, you know this is going to help you," Mustang said to the child in his arms. "This will help make things better."</p><p>Ed fixed his blank eyes on the floor, and Roy thought that for a moment it was in defeat. Then he asked softly, "Do . . . do you know what it's like . . . to always be afraid?"</p><p>The question took Roy completely by surprise.</p><p>Roy knew fear. He knew it with an uncomfortable intimacy that comes from being hunted down like an animal. In Ishval, he had been afraid, and often.</p><p>When he thought about it, he shuddered. Fear was exhausting. It was debilitating and suffocating and wholly disturbing, and that was just in short bursts of it.</p><p>Edward . . . Ed had been afraid for <em>months</em>. For him, it must have been as common as breathing, something he expected now, that was strange to be without. For the first time, Roy really thought about it, really tried to put himself in Ed's position, and he found his insides turning to ice.</p><p>Ed lived like that every day, hoping and praying it would go away, only to be greeted by a new fear, a new nightmare. He never found peace, and Roy was trying to force him out the door in the snow and the cold and the awful memories it held.</p><p>No, Roy had never asked Ed to do something Roy thought he couldn't handle, but that didn't mean Roy always knew what he could handle.</p><p>"I . . ." words didn't come, and he had to swallow and try again. "You're right, Ed. You're right. I don't know what it's like."</p><p>Ed shuddered in his arms like the last leaf on a dying tree. "Please, I know I can't do this." His voice was hushed and pleading. "I'm trying, but I'm not ready for that. . . I'm afraid if I keep flashing back, one time I may not come back, I'll lose my mind . . . and I don't know how much of me is left, Mustang.</p><p>"So please . . . please not yet, okay? <em>Just please not yet."</em></p><p>Roy wasn't sure when Ed had started crying, but his voice cracked at the end, and Roy couldn't bear it. He held the boy tightly to him, stroking his hair as he sobbed, babbling broken apologies and pleas. "Shh," Roy whispered. "We're not going out there. We won't. We'll bring the doctor here. I'll figure it out."</p><p>Ed sagged in weary relief, clinging to his shirt and crying into his coat. "Thank you, Mustang, thank you," he repeated, so relieved that Roy loathed himself for even trying to get him outside in such a state. It didn't take long for exhaustion to get the better of Ed and he slumped forward tiredly, still spouting gratitude and shaky whimpers as Roy scooped him up off the floor. If it weren't for the automail, the boy wouldn't weigh as much as a child half his age.</p><p>With his hip he shut the door, then carefully walked to the living room and sat on the sofa, cradling Ed in his arms.</p><p>"We're not going, Ed," he whispered in the boy's ear, one hand stroking his hair as he held him close. "We're not going."</p><p>Ed continued to thank him, and it disturbed him to hear Ed babbling as if Roy wasn't there at all. He talked and cried until he exhausted himself and fell asleep, right there in Roy's lap like a frightened child after a nightmare.</p><p>Roy just stared, combing his fingers through the boy's pale hair and wishing he knew a way to make all of those nightmares go away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy had been asleep too when the doorbell rang</p><p>Ed almost jumped out of his skin, limbs flailing around in panic as the cheery ring jolted him from his shallow sleep.</p><p>Roy flinched too, if only because Ed's flesh and bone fist had collided with his jaw. <em>"Owe!</em> Fullmetal!" Roy groused, resituating the boy in his arms so that Roy had a tight hold on him and preventing any more damage to his face.</p><p>"What was that?" Ed demanded, clinging to Roy's shirt. "Mustang, what was that?!"</p><p>"It's just the doorbell," Roy said, regaining a measure of himself now that the suddenness of it all had passed.</p><p>Ed seemed to take some comfort in Roy's confidence, but the undercurrent of unease was still there. "Where am I?"</p><p>"My house, remember?" Roy asked, easily getting to his feet with Ed still in his arms. Roy really needed to get him to eat more. He was nothing but bones underneath loose, scarred skin, and he would be prone to illness as long as he was so miserably underweight. "I bet that's Hawkeye at the door. She said she wanted to stop by this evening."</p><p>Ed blanched at that, his body going ridged in Roy's grip. "Hawkeye?" he asked, as if uttering the name of a poisonous reptile and not that of a long-time friend and ally. "W-why is she here?"</p><p>"She wanted to check on you," he explained carefully, wary of this blowing up in his face somehow. If Edward had become one thing since his imprisonment, it was unpredictable. Even though he had tolerated and even clung to Hawkeye's presence during his stay at the hospital, that had been several weeks ago. Ed wasn't in quite the same mind frame he had been in at the time. Now his previously mindless actions were accompanied by a sense of self he had been lacking, and with that came the knowledge that his actions and needs were out of character, and the presence of mind to be self-conscious about it.</p><p>The doorbell rang again.</p><p>"No," Ed said, beginning to struggle like a cat that just caught sight of a bath. "No! Tell her I'm fine and to leave! Put me down!"</p><p>"Fullmetal, stop that," Roy hissed, easily putting a stop to Ed's squirming by tightening his hold. Ed didn't stand much of a chance against Roy's strength, but struggled all the same. "I'll put you down when you stop moving around!"</p><p>Ed froze at the offer, and Roy set him on the ground. He was still wrapped up in Roy's coat and the blanket, looking rumpled and anxious. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he scrambled to find something to put his back to, backing away until his heel hit the couch again. He claimed the corner for himself, folding up until he had almost disappeared into the fabrics around him. "Tell her to leave, Mustang."</p><p>Ed's reaction both annoyed and confused Roy. It wasn't like Hawkeye hadn't seen him worse than this before.</p><p>"I will do no such thing," he announced more roughly than he'd intended. "I'm going to go get the door. Sit there and don't move." Ed made a small, distressed sound, but Roy ignored it, marching to the door and throwing it open.</p><p>She was standing on the porch, a brown sack and a dish of something in her hands and her brows pinched in concern, like she thought Roy had fallen down the stairs and that's what had taken him so long to answer the door. She was dressed in a practical navy coat that was plastered in snow and ice, her blonde hair down and blowing in the freezing wind. Her cheeks were tinged pink with the cold, but if anything, it made her look younger. "Good evening, sir," she said, her tone professional and clipped as always. "I brought you both something to eat."</p><p>Despite its previous encounters with his Lieutenant's cooking, Roy's stomach let out a hopeful rumble, letting them both know how immeasurably glad of that it was.</p><p>She arched an eyebrow, daring him to make some snide remark on the "previous encounters."</p><p>He swallowed said snide remark and cleared his throat instead. "Oh, thank you," he said, accepting the dish from her. "Come in."</p><p>She slipped by him, and he caught the faint scent of her shampoo and gunpowder as she passed and vaguely wondered which of his team members she had shot today.</p><p>"How was the appointment?" she asked, stripping out of her wet coat and scarf and hanging them on the coatrack. She wore a pair of casual gray pants underneath, and a blue sweater that Roy had always secretly been fond of.</p><p>"We didn't make it," he said, giving a pointed look in Ed's direction as he shut the door behind her.</p><p>She caught on quick enough, following his gaze to the boy hiding on his couch. Ed looked on-edge as he listened, seemingly ready to bolt if noticed.</p><p>"Hello, Edward," Hawkeye greeted, her voice warm and welcoming and a kind smile spread across her face even though her eyes suddenly looked unbearably sad.</p><p>Ed's eyes widened, as if surprised he had been spotted. He opened his mouth, but choked on his reply and shut it again, looking mortified that he couldn't get the words out.</p><p>Hawkeye's smile dimmed to match her eyes. "That's alright, Edward," she promised gently. "It's good to visit you." Roy noticed how she substituted the word 'visit' for 'see.'</p><p>Ed gave a tight nod in response, then pulled the coat and blanket tightly around him and looked like he wanted to disappear altogether.</p><p>As Mustang watched, the tenderness in her gaze wavered, then hardened and she turned back to him. "We need to discuss some things." Her tone suggested that she wanted some privacy.</p><p>Roy frowned, glancing at Ed, then back to her. "Well, why don't we have dinner first, and then we can discuss whatever's on your mind."</p><p>She nodded. "I'll get started on it." With that, she took the dish from his hands and made for the kitchen. He followed, only sparing a worried glance at Edward before walking past him to regard the kitchen. Hawkeye flitted through the place like she owned it, easily locating utensils, spices and bowls. She rifled through his icebox, nose wrinkling just the faintest bit in disgust at the state of it as she came out with a paper grocers' bag oozing decomposing vegetable matter.</p><p>"It's been a while since I could clean," he admitted, sounding defensive even to himself. He took the bag between a thumb and forefinger and escorted it to the trash bin.</p><p>"Apparently," she commented wryly. She pulled out some fresh asparagus from her brown bag and rinsed it in the sink. "Put some oil in that pan," she said.</p><p>"Ordering me around in my own home, Hawkeye?" he asked with a smirk, grabbing the glass dispenser and emptying some of the gold fluid into the pan. "That's a bit unconventional."</p><p>"So is the state of your icebox," she replied evenly, pushing the chopped vegetables aside. "Sir," she added as an afterthought. Like he didn't really deserve it.</p><p>"That's a low blow," he whined, watching her place her covered dish in the oven. There was something therapeutic about her presence here in his home, watching her move around his kitchen. There was a companionability about it that put him at ease, a sense of not being as alone as he had believed. Riza had always had that effect on him, and it was only exaggerated now, when he was at his wits' end. It was like marching into battle and realizing someone had his back.</p><p>Yes. Just like that.</p><p>"Yes, sir," she agreed absently. "You can add the asparagus now."</p><p>He smiled and stepped around her, gathering the asparagus in his hands and adding it to the hot oil. The pan hissed and spat like a deranged animal, and Roy heard a sharp gasp from the living room.</p><p>And just like that, reality stepped in and slapped him in the face.</p><p>He dropped everything and ran to the living room, so consumed in trying to get to the child that he had completely forgotten to eliminate the source of Ed's fear. The pan still snarled on the stove, but it was too late for him to do anything about it. "Hawkeye, the pan!"</p><p>Ed had sought refuge on the floor, going the few feet to curl up at the base of the wall. Roy hoped he wasn't too late to turn it around, to bring him out of the flashback before it began. "Ed, I'm right here," he said, slowing down so his pounding steps didn't scare him more than he already was.</p><p>Ed only stiffened, pale eyes wide as he inched further to the side, searching for a corner or something to be protected by. "Stay back," he warned, tone shaking like his hands.</p><p>Hawkeye was suddenly at Roy's side, and only then did he realize the sizzling was gone. "Edward?" she asked gently, her tone even.</p><p>Roy wasn't sure if it was Hawkeye's distinctly female voice that reached through to him, or if it was Hawkeye herself. Probably both. Ed seemed to give pause, halting his hasty retreat enough to at least consider his surroundings with wide eyes and terse breaths. "Lieutenant?"</p><p>"That's right, Edward," she confirmed. "I'm right here. Colonel Mustang is here as well."</p><p>He digested this information, his face twisting into something horrified and embarrassed. "I . . . I'm fine," he insisted lamely. "I'm fine." His hand slowly moved to his throat, clearly signaling he was anything but fine.</p><p>"Ed," Mustang said, hoping to draw him out, coax him someplace where he would be more comfortable and more stable. Anything was better than watching him shiver on the floor. "Let's get you to the table. Hawkeye made dinner, and her cooking's not always that bad." he said with a smile.</p><p>He could feel Hawkeye's withering glare on the back of his head, but she said nothing, obviously hoping for the same reaction Roy was.</p><p>Ed didn't provide a smile or even a smirk. He just stared and held his throat. He finally tried to stand, but the coat and blanket were preventing that from being an easy task and Roy finally grabbed his arm to help him up. Though the blond didn't flinch, he didn't go in the direction Roy pulled. "Ed?" he questioned uncertainly.</p><p>Edward seemed to be considering his words. "Which way are the stairs?" he finally asked.</p><p>"Not far behind you. What do you need up there?"</p><p>Ed stared blankly and almost guiltily down at his feet. "I want . . . I want to go."</p><p>So that was what all of the trouble was about. He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of Hawkeye, so he was going to hide in his room until she left.</p><p>But this was the small dose of the outside world that Roy needed, and Ed needed it, too. Something to get used to trusting people again, to interacting with someone besides Roy and Silas. It might be damaging to his ego, but Ed could handle that.</p><p>"Not until after dinner," Roy insisted. "Hawkeye went through a lot of trouble fixing this meal for us."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Ed whispered. "I'm not hungry."</p><p>"You have to eat," Roy said. "You're skin and bones. You won't gain your strength back if you keep eating the way you do."</p><p>Some sort of emotion flared across Ed's face, but it was gone before Roy could pinpoint it. "I'll eat later," he promised, but Roy had a feeling it was an empty one.</p><p>Roy frowned, and an order was on his lips before Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. He gave her a confused look, but she just shook her head. He arched an eyebrow but she offered no further response, so he sighed. "Fine. I'll take you up to your room," he said, trying to ignore the overprotective twinge in his gut that reminded him Ed would be out of his sight and out of easy ear-shot.</p><p>Ed's expression slackened with incredulous relief and he nodded eagerly, not even arguing about Roy's insistence on helping him. He turned to Hawkeye. "I'll be back in a minute."</p><p>She nodded and retreated back to the kitchen, and he turned and pulled Ed up the stairs.</p><p>When they were safely in Ed's room, Roy parked him on his bed and stood before him.</p><p>"What's gotten into you?" he demanded.</p><p>Ed frowned. "Nothing."</p><p>Roy gave him a skeptical glare, then realized Ed couldn't see it. "Then why is it that you're avoiding Hawkeye like the plague? She came to see you, brought you food, and now you act like you can't stand to be in the same room with her!"</p><p>Ed grimaced and said nothing.</p><p>"Well?"</p><p>"I . . . she sees . . ." he shifted uncomfortably in the coat and blanket. "She sees me."</p><p>"That's not a reason."</p><p>Emotion flashed across his face, a glare pulling his eyebrows down and curling his lip in disgust. "I look like a complete idiot, Mustang! <em>Look</em> at me! I can't even be away from this <em>stupid blanket!"</em> He yanked the fabric, looking like he wanted nothing more than to shred it, but couldn't bring himself to do it. "I get food all over myself when I eat, and did you drop a pan or something in the kitchen? Because all I heard were those stupid wolves!"</p><p>He buried his face in the open collar of the coat, pulling the blanket tight around him. "I feel both of you staring at me and I can't stand it, Mustang. Just because I'm blind doesn't give you the right to stare at me!"</p><p>Roy blinked. "Ed . . . we're not trying to stare at you. We're just looking at you like we would anyone else."</p><p>Ed sat up abruptly and opened his mouth to say something brash and heated, but clearly thought the better of it and closed it, lips thinning into a tight line.</p><p>Roy wasn't sure his silence was better than the yelling. "Edward—"</p><p>"Just go away," he said instead, putting his head down and curling up on his side.</p><p>Roy stared at his back for a moment, then sighed. "I'll be back in a while," he promised, then left the room.</p><p>When he returned downstairs, he found Hawkeye back in the kitchen, the table set for two and the food sitting out all ready. It smelled wonderful; like garlic and chicken.</p><p>She gave him a questioning look and he shook his head. "He's not coming down for a while."</p><p>Hawkeye frowned and sat down at the table. "Is this . . . normal?"</p><p>Roy sank into his own chair across from her, suddenly feeling very tired. "He hasn't been eating well since Alphonse left. Before that he was always ravenous, but now it's like he doesn't even care." He propped his elbows on the scarred tabletop and massaged his eyes. "This time, I think he's embarrassed more than anything."</p><p>"Embarrassed?"</p><p>He peered out from between a veil of fingers. "He doesn't want you to see him like this."</p><p>Understanding slowly dawned across her features and she nodded. "Of course . . . He's always been such a proud boy . . ."</p><p>"And now he can't even find the stairs without help," Roy finished, feeling a scowl overtake his face. "He shouldn't have to go through this, Hawkeye. He shouldn't have to rely on anyone for things like that. And he certainly shouldn't have to rely on <em>me</em>, of all people."</p><p>She was thankfully silent as he brooded. She picked up her fork and began to take small, dainty bites of her food.</p><p>Roy glanced down at his own plate. Chicken and mushroom sauce with half-cooked asparagus. It looked good. Really good. Roy picked up his own fork and shoveled in a mouthful.</p><p>It <em>was</em> good.</p><p>"Don't look so surprised," Hawkeye said with a pained sigh.</p><p>Roy quickly latched onto the banter, the normalcy of it too appealing to ignore. "It's hard not to. After that one incident—"</p><p>"That was <em>one time."</em></p><p>"I was sick the rest of the week. Poor Falman was out for twice that long."</p><p>An adorable blush brushed her smooth cheeks a rosy pink. Despite that, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Havoc and Breda set fire to your desk."</p><p>His train of thought completely derailed and fell into a hapless wreck of confusion. "My . . . they what?"</p><p>"I told you to keep all of your gloves locked up," she said, taking another bite of her meal and swallowing while Roy tried to figure out how to speak again. Did she . . . did she actually look . . . <em>smug?</em></p><p>"My . . . my desk?!" he demanded. "I have important things inside there! Why were they even in my office?! I'm going to set <em>them</em> on fire." A horrible thought crossed his mind. "Lieutenant, tell me my little black book is still safe."</p><p>Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "Your address book is fine, Colonel. And so are the <em>important military documents</em> inside your desk."</p><p>Roy breathed a sigh of relief that had nothing to do with military documents.</p><p>"I took the liberty of locking your gloves up in my own desk," she informed, as if lecturing a child who left his toys out and wouldn't be allowed to play with them until he'd learned his lesson. "Havoc and Breda will be repairing the damage tomorrow."</p><p>"It's like working with toddlers," Roy groaned to his food. "Havoc's the one I need to set on fire. If I make an example of him, the others will catch on; don't mess with my little black book."</p><p>"Yes sir. A very important lesson." Roy thought he detected a trace of sarcasm.</p><p>"I don't think you appreciate how hard I worked to get all of those contacts—"</p><p>"I don't want to know."</p><p>He took the hint and shut up.</p><p>They ate in silence for a while, until Hawkeye finally spoke up. "We need to discuss something important. You know that Edward has to be . . ."</p><p>He glanced up at her, his last remnants of mirth evaporating and lips pulling down even as he tried to offer her a smile. She frowned in concern and her voice simply trailed off.</p><p>"Just a little longer, Lieutenant. I need things to be normal for just a little longer, please."</p><p>Her gaze became a bit strained, as if she was only now realizing what exactly she was up against; what the situation was doing to him. He could feel the weight of it even as he tried to ignore it, the black hole that was always in the peripheral of his mind, gnawing at him and clawing at him like old nightmares.</p><p>Ed was this way because of him. He couldn't fix it, no matter what he did. Everything he did seemed to make it worse, but he couldn't quit. This was all his doing. There was no way he could quit now.</p><p>"Colonel?"</p><p>Roy's head snapped up so he could look his Lieutenant. If he only possessed an ounce of her intelligence, or her courage. If this were her mistake, she would have been able to make it right. No, she wouldn't have made such a devastating error to begin with. She would never have sent a child on his own that far north. In fact, she had stated her doubts even as he signed the orders. He should have listened. He should have known.</p><p>"Roy, are you alright?" She asked it the way paramedics asked trauma victims how many fingers they're holding up. She was analyzing him, her sherry eyes concerned and calculating. He couldn't pretend everything was alright if she was going to stare at him like she knew it wasn't.</p><p>What could he possibly say? Anything he could have responded with was a lie, and Hawkeye could see through him anyway. If he said yes, the heaviness in his eyes would betray him. If he said no, he knew very well that he had nothing to complain about compared to Ed.</p><p>He picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen, setting it into the sink and leaning tiredly against the counter. "I don't know, Riza," he finally answered.</p><p>He sensed her come up beside him more than he actually heard her. She leaned her back against the counter and stood there next to him, a solid, reassuring presence. They waited in silence for a little while.</p><p>"You're too close to this."</p><p>He closed his eyes. "I know."</p><p>"You're trying to shoulder too much of this on your own."</p><p>"It's my fault, Riza. I have to."</p><p>More silence.</p><p>"Roy . . . do you remember when you burned my father's research from my back?"</p><p>He remembered. He remembered it clearly, the smell of her burning flesh and her small, pained cries that she couldn't quite contain as he melted the skin from her body. He had tried so hard to be gentle, to only take as much flesh as was necessary to erase the dangerous secrets from her body, but he had been young and inexperienced and the scarring on her back was horrible. He hadn't seen it in years, but he knew that it was uncomfortable, almost painful for her at times. She never said anything, though. She never had, and she never would.</p><p>"Do you remember what you told me before? When you asked if I was afraid?"</p><p>He didn't remember. All he remembered were her cries and trying to contain his own as he hurt the only woman he had ever loved. He remembered sitting by her bedside as she silently cried all night long, trying to make her more comfortable, trying to ease the pain and treat the terrible wounds as she sniffed and tried to smile for him and tell him she was fine, he could leave.</p><p>He remembered feeling like a monster.</p><p>"You said that it would be okay, because no matter how much it hurt, you would be there, holding my hand the whole time."</p><p>He felt a dark smile pull at his lips. "What an idiot I was . . . am. You were in pain for days."</p><p>She gently took his hand. Startled, he looked down at it then back at her.</p><p>She smiled. "And for days, you were right there, holding my hand."</p><p>He could imagine the expression on his face; bewildered, confused. He tried to cover it up with a smirk and a joke. "I must look pretty awful if you're holding my hand willingly." But he wrapped his fingers around hers, holding on tight as if holding on for dear life. In some ways, he supposed he was.</p><p>Her smile turned sad. "You do, Roy," she promised, offering his hand a gentle squeeze.</p><p>They stood there for a moment, staring out the kitchen window, watching as night crept over the city. Their hands were clasped between them like links in a chain. He felt her rough, calloused hand in his, warm and strong and lending him her strength. He wasn't sure if he could let go if he tried.</p><p>"Riza." His voice cracked and he looked away again, still holding onto her tightly while his smile crumbled to pieces even as he tried to hold it in place. "You're right. I haven't been asking for help like I should. It's just . . . Ed . . ."</p><p>"He doesn't trust us like he trusts you."</p><p>Roy gave her a helpless look. "I think you're assuming a bit much. I've been trying to gain his trust since before he went missing. He won't tell me anything, and he barely tolerates me helping him at all. And then after yesterday . . ."</p><p>"But when he's scared, he goes to you, right?"</p><p>That took Roy off guard. "He doesn't have much of a choice. I'm the only option he's got."</p><p>"That's not the point. Edward let you see weakness. That's something Ed would never consciously do unless he trusted you."</p><p>"He can't help it. He'd be clinging to Furher King Bradley if he were nearby."</p><p>She shook her head. "You know that's not true. Did you see the look on his face when he heard my voice? He looked like he wanted to hide."</p><p>"He did," Roy said with a sigh. "Trust or no, I'm not making any progress with him, Riza. I've barely gotten him to eat since Alphonse left, and he almost had a heart attack when I was trying to take him out the front door. I don't know what else to do."</p><p>"You're trying to carry this all on your own when it's too big for you," she said, voice soft and knowing. She knew him. She knew him better than he knew himself. "This isn't something that you can just fix by yourself. Let us help you." She squeezed his fingers again, the gesture comforting.</p><p>He felt the consuming, isolating coldness inside of him warm just a bit. It was nice to not feel as alone. It was nice to know he had the Hawk's Eyes watching over him. "Thank you."</p><p>She smiled. "Sir." Then her grip slackened and he saw her smile fade a bit. He let her have her hand back and tried to force his hand not to grab for it again. "We need to talk about something." Her voice became clinical and her gaze hardened. It was like flipping a switch and she shifted back into her role as his First Lieutenant.</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>"Our investigation into Ed's case. We've reached a dead end, sir. Unless we get more information, we have nothing to go on."</p><p>Roy's heart constricted. "And what information did you have in mind?"</p><p>She looked him in the eye. "We need his report, sir."</p><p>He felt his heart sink deep into his chest. "Hawkeye, he's not ready."</p><p>"I think you need to let him be the judge of that, sir."</p><p>He leaned on the counter, running a hand through his hair and stopping to cradle his forehead. "I can't do that to him, Riza. He can't . . . what if he starts associating me with those memories? What if just my voice starts to trigger flashbacks? I can't take care of him if he's terrified of me." Roy knew he was exaggerating, letting his fears get the better of him, but he didn't care. Those 'what ifs' frightened him, visited him in his nightmares and haunted him every time he looked at Edward. The boy had enough to be afraid of without Roy's presence making him panic.</p><p>Hawkeye was quiet, letting him gather himself before she spoke. "I can do the debriefing," she said gently. "Havoc and I can handle it."</p><p>He shook his head, feeling unbalanced and sick. "No."</p><p>"We'll be as gentle as we can, and you can be there to help him through it."</p><p>
  <em>"No."</em>
</p><p>"Sir, you're not listening—"</p><p>"No, Lieutenant! <em>You're</em> not listening!" he snarled, rounding on her, his face inches from hers.</p><p>Then his brain caught up with his actions and he froze.</p><p>She didn't move, barely even batting an eye at the sudden invasion of her space, the hostility Roy had exhibited a breath ago, but her eyes became hard and dangerous.</p><p>"Step back, Colonel." She said it slowly, voice firm and encased in ice.</p><p>He felt his eyes widen in horror. He backpedaled frantically, heart pounding as he stared. "Riza . . . Hawkeye," he said breathlessly. "I'm sorry." Her eyes were cold, but there was a disappointment underneath it and he couldn't look at her. He turned away, retreating to the living room.</p><p>Once there, he found it a bit easier to breathe. He sank into the sofa, feeling ancient and weary. The exhaustion and worry that had been gnawing on him for months was starting to catch up with him, eating away him like a parasite. It was terribly reminiscent of those months in Ishval, the stress of being on high alert for days, the emotional strain of committing ghastly crimes against other human beings, the smothered, trapped sensation of being cornered in a situation he didn't feel equipped to handle.</p><p>He felt Hawkeye's gaze on him, watching from a distance with wary concern.</p><p>Roy buried his face in his hands, trying to block out the smell of burning flesh. "I'm too close to this," he said quietly.</p><p>It took her a moment. "Yes, sir."</p><p>He breathed deeply, trying to make his heart stop pounding. "I'm sorry, Riza."</p><p>"You're tired. You haven't been sleeping well." Of course she knew. She always knew.</p><p>Roy shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. "That's no excuse." He thought a moment. "I think you're right. I think you need to take over the investigation."</p><p>She blinked. "Sir?"</p><p>But Roy nodded, satisfied if not pleased with his decision. "I'm too involved to think objectively. This," he gestured an all-encompassing hand around him. "It's getting to me. Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to be very much involved in all of it, and will overrule you if I deem it necessary, but from now on, this is your case, Lieutenant Hawkeye."</p><p>Hawkeye looked at him, sherry eyes dark and unreadable. She almost looked like she was about to protest, then thought the better of it. "Sir."</p><p>Roy didn't feel any of the relief he thought he would. Instead, he felt hollow and almost unhinged, like he was letting the one thing he had control over slip through his fingers.</p><p>"In that case," she said slowly, "I think it would be best for us to debrief him here. Maybe Thursday evening, after everyone has left."</p><p>Roy's lip quirked in a miserable sort of smirk and a tired, sad chuckle slipped past his lips. "That'll give us all something to look forward to." He caught the look Hawkeye was sending him and sobered. "Sorry. I'm not being fair to you . . ."</p><p>She held up a hand. "Colonel, you don't look well. You're not acting well. This is eating away at you, and it's not going to stop until you forgive yourself."</p><p>He felt his eyes widen, expression slackening in shock. He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off.</p><p>"Think about what I said." And with that, she slipped on her coat and walked out the door.</p><p>He could only stare after her in a numb sort of daze, unable to shake the feeling that he had damaged something important.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed shuddered and shivered and tried to remember where he was without crying out and giving away his position. A soft whimper slipped past his lips unbidden and he bit down on his bottom lip, trying to stifle any more sound. His body was ridged with anticipation, cold sweat soaking his frail body, ears and nose straining to pick up the slightest hints.</p><p>It was deathly quiet around him, the hollow but oppressing sort of quiet he associated with empty houses. He could hear wind rushing, but it sounded far away, muffled. There was something soft under him and something firm at his back, which told him he couldn't be in the basement. It wasn't cold enough, and it smelled like dust and wood, not stone and blood. Did they take him somewhere? Did they bring him here to kill him?</p><p>He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Blanket . . . that was familiar. It meant something, but he wasn't sure what. Something he was supposed to remember?</p><p>There was movement, soft footfalls padding in another part of the building. He listened harder, finally discerning voices, one high and one low. Something thumped and the silence resumed, no matter how hard he listened.</p><p>Then the footsteps resumed, coming his way.</p><p>They were coming to kill him, he knew it. The collar was tight around his throat. He had to get away, but he couldn't. He was chained there, and it would be as easy to dispatch him as reaching down and snapping his neck. He saw them do it to a wolf once, after Ed had injured it. The big man just grabbed its head in one big hand and twisted and then it was gone.</p><p>He struggled, something else binding him, constraining his movements. He tried to back away, to get away from it, but something was in his way, like he was surrounded by three walls of solid wood. He was trapped, the only way to go toward the sound, and he wasn't feeling quite that suicidal, even if he was choking.</p><p>The door opened and they were here.</p><p>He kept very still and waited, trying to stop breathing altogether as they got closer. He felt his sickly heart pick up its tempo, pounding painfully in his thin chest and making it hard to hear.</p><p>Then a warm hand touched his face and he felt ice and panic flood his veins. He thrashed, lashing out with a hand and a fierce snarl, and someone somewhere was calling to him, but he couldn't get there, because they were here to kill him.</p><p>Then both of his wrists were pinned down, and his legs, too, and as much as he struggled, he may as well have been chained there by shackles of iron.</p><p>His stomach and throat were laid bare, inviting a knife or booted foot to take the life out of him, and even as he tried to wrest his limbs away, he felt frozen despair take him, frightened tears burning his damaged eyes like acid all over again.</p><p><em>"Stay away,"</em> he whimpered, voice rough and broken and more pathetic than anything. He could hear them laughing as he begged for his life, but he thought there was only one voice and maybe it wasn't laughing. Something scraped against the soft, scarred skin just above his hips and he sucked in a breath, the panic making him sick. "No, no knives, please . . . no, please . . ."</p><p>"No knives," a deep, gentle voice promised.</p><p>A raspy sob tore his throat. Mustang was here. So he would stay this time. Mustang would stay while they tore his body apart. It was a small comfort, but he would take what he could get. "What . . . what are they going to do?" he asked.</p><p>There was a pause. A long one, and Ed thought he had left. His heart sank and he tried to get away again, but the hands on his wrists and legs tightened painfully.</p><p>"Stop struggling, Ed," the voice ordered. If Mustang told him to stop struggling, then they were probably about to do something awful. If he didn't struggle, maybe it wouldn't hurt as much. . . were they going to put their cigarettes against his stomach again? Put that clothe sack over his head and pour water over it to drown him?</p><p>"What are they going to do?" he cried, chest heaving with terror. Not knowing was worse than any torture. They teased him with it, promising one thing and delivering something else, leaving the chains off so he could try to feebly defend himself in one direction, then having someone come up and stab him from the other. They laughed at him, did their best to humiliate him.</p><p>He could handle pain when he saw it coming. He could handle anything he could see.</p><p>But he couldn't handle not seeing.</p><p>"Edward, I need you to latch on to my voice. Can you do that?"</p><p>That was <em>all</em> he could do. "I need to know, Mustang! Tell me! Are they going to drown me? Do they have acid? No acid! Please, no acid!" he called out, knowing his pleas would land on deaf ears, but needing to try all the same.</p><p>"Hush, Fullmetal," he ordered sternly. Ed actually wished he was there, would give anything not to be alone here. "I shouldn't have left you alone this long. You're hallucinating again, aren't you?"</p><p>Of course he was hallucinating. What did Mustang thing he was? Did his subconscious think it was being funny?</p><p>His arms and legs moved against his consent, his captors bending them against his chest as he helplessly struggled against them. "Stop moving, Fullmetal. I've got you," Mustang promised, and something soft wrapped around his body, constricting his movement. "Hey, it's just me! Relax!"</p><p>There was no way he could relax when he had no idea what they were doing to him! He panted for air, body quivering with exhaustion and fear, but there would be plenty more where that came from if he didn't get away.</p><p>Arms clamped around him, lifting him from the ground and encircling him like a vice. He bucked and fought for all he was worth, ignoring Mustang's orders to stop. He spent the last of his strength fighting them, and then he had nothing left to give. He sagged against his captor's chest, panting hard as his chest ached and tears rolled down his face. "Just . . . just kill me."</p><p>"Shut up, Fullmetal," Mustang ordered over the laugh of a Drachman soldier. His voice sounded strained, tired. "I'm going to sit here and hold you until you snap out of it."</p><p>His tears halted as he stopped to consider the world around him. <em>That smell . . .</em> mesquite and earth. It was familiar, achingly so. The man that held him . . . it was too good to be true. There was simply no way that this wasn't one of his captors.</p><p>Afraid to find out, but more afraid not to, Ed slowly raised a shaking hand. His flesh fingers brushed the face above him, and when he felt no pain, he let them carefully glide over its features.</p><p>His fingertips skimmed over a strong jaw, working up past sharp, sunken eyes with eyelashes that tickled his skin and a firm brow. He felt up to the short hair, hanging messily down the man's forehead. That face . . . it was almost like seeing it, connecting dots with his hands to form a picture in his mind. His breath caught in his throat. "M . . . Mustang?"</p><p>"That's right, kid," the man responded, voice vibrating the side of Ed's head. Ed could sense a weary smile in it.</p><p>Relief left him feeling lightheaded and shaky. He twisted the man's shirt in his hand. "Don't, leave, please. Please don't leave, I'll go back there if you go!" he sobbed. His mind was his greatest enemy, dragging him back to that basement time and again, the way an abused dog returns to its master. Alphonse was supposed to be there, but he wasn't. Mustang was the only one he could hold to, the only one that could keep him sane.</p><p>"I'm going to be right here," Mustang promised in his ear. "Right here, Ed. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe here."</p><p>He wept openly and ashamedly. "I need Al. I need him." That had been something Alphonse did; help him wake up in the present. Falling asleep alone on the floor had been a terrible idea, and he was regretting it fully. He felt his mind wavering, like balancing on a tightrope over a black whirlpool: sometimes the wind was calm and he could keep his balance, and sometimes it pitched him about fitfully, making him twist and fall and fight for his sanity.</p><p>"I know," Mustang whispered, holding him close. Ed couldn't get close enough, wrapping his arms around the older man's neck and clinging to him like a child to its mother. He curled his head underneath the hollow between the man's jaw and shoulder, shivering uncontrollably, searching for some measure of safety, some way to feel less exposed and deranged. Mustang allowed it, his strong hands patting his back slowly and soothingly. "Shh, Ed, it's okay. I'm not Alphonse, but I promised to keep you safe, remember?" his voice was strong and calming, and Ed held on to it like a life raft.</p><p>"Keep talking. Please keep talking."</p><p>He felt Mustang's lips pull into a smile at the top of his head. "I can talk for hours. You know that. You've complained about it enough. What would you like me to talk about?"</p><p>Ed shook his head, flinching as he heard something move beside them, like one of the wolves padding through the dark. He wrenched his useless eyes shut and felt a wave of nausea try to overwhelm him. He didn't usually get scared enough to puke his guts up, but he was there now. "I don't care. Anything. Just talk, talk please!" Ed heard his own voice growing tight and shrill, escalating with his panic.</p><p>"Okay," Mustang said, taking note of his returning hysteria. His voice was low and slow, steady and calm like a pool in a quiet forest. Ed latched onto it, letting it occupy his ears. He let Mustang's heartbeat pound him into the present, his scent drown out the blood staining his nose. "Well, I do know a thing or two about fire alchemy—"</p><p>Ed almost threw up then and there. He felt the scars on his thighs flair with pain he remembered like a promise. "No fire, please. Please no fire."</p><p>"Okay, okay, no fire," he murmured, settling down on the floor with Ed in his lap. Ed curled up there, trembling and sick, feeling like he was spinning through a sandstorm with only Mustang to take shelter behind. "Well, then, I took some courses on military strategy back at the academy. Let me tell you about the thirteen principals of war."</p><p>Ed listened to Mustang's voice, letting the tone and cadence wash over him, carrying him along away from the nightmares, away from his fear. It seemed like hours before his heart rate finally evened out, his insides calming to something less nauseated and more just uneasy. He could finally breathe and take in enough oxygen, his mind clearing with each breath until finally he felt some semblance of safety there in Mustang's arms.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy didn't get much sleep that night, and it seemed that Ed rested just as well. Once he had fallen asleep, Roy had tried to put him to bed so he could go get some sleep himself, but Edward had awakened with a cry and held on even tighter, and Roy didn't have the heart to leave him alone like that. So he propped himself against the headrest and held the child. As his first night without Alphonse or the aid of tranquilizers, Ed slept lightly and fitfully in Roy's arms.</p><p>The night was a vicious cycle of nightmares. Ed would seem to be deep enough in sleep for Roy to relax and nod off, then, in what seemed like moments, he would bolt upright, demanding to know where he was, or telling the demons in his mind to get away from him, or sometimes he would gasp as if something had suddenly jolted him awake and lay there stiff and silent. Each time it didn't take much for Roy to calm him down and get him back to sleep again, but the routine left Roy exhausted and bleary-eyed by the time morning came. He faintly wondered how he could possibly maintain this kind of sleeping arrangement for any length of time.</p><p>Not only that, but the next day Ed would have to be ready to give his account to Hawkeye and Havoc. There was no way this would go well, and Roy was completely at a loss on how to prepare him for it.</p><p>So while Ed was upstairs readying himself for the day, Roy placed a call. After a secretary putting him on hold, he was greeted by a familiar, chipper voice.</p><p>
  <em>"Doctor Silas speaking!"</em>
</p><p>"Jim, It's Roy," he said, leaning back against the counter.</p><p><em>"Roy!"</em> Silas greeted as if they were good friends and not bound together by Ed's terrible predicament. <em>"I thought I'd have to call myself to schedule Ed's next appointment! Does next Thursday work? What time do you guys want me?"</em></p><p>Roy sighed. "It's not that. I have a favor to ask."</p><p>Apparently sensing Roy's trepidation, Silas dampened his enthusiasm just a bit. <em>"Well, any way I can help, just ask!"</em> For him, 'dampened' was chipper, with just a touch of apprehension.</p><p>Roy glanced through the living room archway to make sure Ed hadn't come downstairs. "We've reached a dead-end in Ed's case. We can't go on without further information, and we have to get it from Ed. We are to debrief him in my home tomorrow night, eight thirty. It would give me peace of mind for a doctor to be there."</p><p>Silas was quiet for a moment, as if deep in thought<em>. "I'm not the kind of doctor you need, Roy</em>." It wasn't said unkindly, but it piqued Roy's frustration with the whole situation.</p><p>He fought to reign in a sharp retort. "I <em>know</em> that. We were unable to make it to his psychiatrist appointment yesterday because I can't get him out of the house without him having some sort of breakdown! I can't just call in someone he doesn't know to sit in on this, Jim. Edward wouldn't have it. You're the best we have."</p><p>
  <em>"Did you try the sedatives?"</em>
</p><p>Anger coiled in his gut, but Roy had the sense to know it wasn't directed at Silas, so he took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. "I can't make him take those. I tried it once. It didn't go well."</p><p>Silas seemed to understand. <em>"Alright, Roy. I can be there. But to warn you, I only know enough psychology to make conversation interesting. My fallback will be the drugs. If you had a real psychologist there, there could be other, friendlier methods of calming him down."</em></p><p>Roy closed his eyes. "I understand. I'll take all of the help I can get at this point."</p><p><em>"Alright, excellent</em>!" he said, as if he had just advised Roy on a good recipe and not Ed's wellbeing. Roy wasn't sure if it soothed or annoyed him. <em>"I assume there will be a time for his examination that same evening? It's a little early, but better early than the two of you putting it off, eh?"</em></p><p>"That will be fine."</p><p>
  <em>"Very good! Well, I'll be on the lookout for a psychiatrist that will make house calls. I think I know just the man . . . ah, of course! Well, the both of you take care! I'll be there tomorrow!"</em>
</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>Roy hung up and walked away from the conversation with a bit of relief. As cowardly as it was, there was comfort in having some of the responsibility lifted from his shoulders.</p><p>Before he could make it all the way back up the stairs, the phone rang again. He hurried to his room to answer it, passing Edward's open bedroom door on the way. He peeked inside quickly, finding him well and listening intently, frozen in the middle of pulling on a sweater. "Mustang?" he asked tentatively. Roy wasn't sure if he was asking if that was him at the door or what the sound was.</p><p>"Phone," he responded, answering both questions at once. He left the doorway and managed to snag the phone from his nightstand on the fifth ring.</p><p>"Mustang," he said into the receiver.</p><p><em>"Colonel?"</em> Alphonse's tinny voice filtered through.</p><p>He felt his eyes widen in surprise. "Alphonse," he breathed. "Where are you?" He honestly didn't mean to sound as harsh as he probably did, but just hearing the kid's voice made him suddenly realize he'd been worried about him. Going to Xing was no small matter, and he was just a boy. Granted, a boy bound to a very large and intimidating suit of armor, but there were plenty of things that Roy thought worth worrying about.</p><p><em>"I'm at the border,"</em> he answered guiltily, a hint of hysteria creeping into his voice. Apparently he was afraid he was being chastised. <em>"I would have called sooner, but the phone at the last station was out, and if I had stopped to look for another phone, I would have missed my connecting train! I'm sorry, Colonel!"</em></p><p>"It's alright, Alphonse," Roy responded placatingly. "It's just . . . it's good to hear from you."</p><p>
  <em>"Is everything okay there?"</em>
</p><p>Roy thought how best to respond to that. "Everything is as well as can be expected . . ."</p><p>Hurried, haphazard steps thumped down the hallway and Ed came barreling in, blanket trailing behind him like wings. "Is that Al?" he asked, voice laced with desperation. He hobbled into Roy's bedroom, hitting the doorframe with a grunt and almost slamming his hip against the nightstand before Roy snagged his elbow and guided him away from it.</p><p>"Hang on, Alphonse," he said into the phone. "Easy, Fullmetal! You're going to hurt yourself!"</p><p>"It <em>is</em> Al! Let me talk to him, Mustang!" he begged, bleached eyes wide and hungry as he clawed at Mustang's arm, searching frantically for the phone at the other end.</p><p>"Alright, alright!" Roy said, doing his best to hold Ed off and keep the phone in his hand. "Alphonse? I'm going to put your brother on. I'll talk to you when he's done."</p><p><em>"Okay, thank you, sir!"</em> Al said, sounding almost as eager as Ed did.</p><p>Roy gently put the phone in Ed's hand. "Al?" Ed whispered into the receiver. Roy took his elbow and guided him to sit on the edge of the bed before he seriously injured himself.</p><p>Roy couldn't make out any of what Alphonse said, but Ed's face seemed to drain of all tension as he listened. His eyes softened and his mouth quirked into the barest ghost of a smile. Roy hadn't seen him look this at peace since Alphonse had been there. It was like watching years melt off of the boy, leaving a child in their wake.</p><p>"I'm fine, Al," he said softly. "I've been doing better the past couple of days, actually," he lied, completely oblivious to the stern glance Roy sent his way. "Where are you?"</p><p>His brother's response made just a touch of darkness taint his visage. "Al . . . Al, I really don't think this is a good idea. There are a million things that could go wrong in the desert all by yourself." He paused to listen, expression growing even more disturbed. "Yeah, I know we've gone through the desert before, but never outside of the country. This is different."</p><p>Ed brought his legs up under his chin, looking all the world like he was using them to hold himself together. His eyes closed and he drew in a ragged breath as he listened. "Yeah, I know," he admitted. "I know, I just . . . I wish I was there with you."</p><p>Roy felt something inside of him twist at that.</p><p>"I know. Okay . . . Al, be careful, okay? Don't forget to oil your joints and keep your armor clean. And call as soon as you find another phone, okay?" Maybe it was Roy's imagination, but it sounded like the boy's throat was closing. "Okay, I'll put him back on. Bye, Al."</p><p>Ed held out the phone, either uncaring or oblivious to where Roy was standing. Roy had to step around him to retrieve it, putting it to his ear once more. "Alphonse," he said, sitting next to Ed.</p><p><em>"Sir, is he really doing better?"</em> Al asked, voice somehow sounding skeptical and hopeful at the same time.</p><p>Roy hesitated, turning to look at Ed. The boy was listening, that much was evident, and his hearing was much better than Roy's, so he was probably catching every word from both sides of the conversation.</p><p>He could tell Alphonse the truth and tell him that the past two days had been long and painful. He could tell him about having to drug Ed, and how he had held Ed all night just so the poor kid could get some sleep between his nightmares. He could tell him his brother missed his psychiatrist appointment because he was too afraid to go out the front door. He could tell him that he wasn't eating like he should, and he could tell him that everything was about to get a whole lot worse.</p><p>Or he could lie and tell Alphonse that Ed was doing better. He could put Al's mind just a bit at ease, when he would be out of touch for weeks as he crossed the desert, and by extension, ease Ed's guilty conscience somewhat.</p><p>Roy decided that sometimes lying was a kindness.</p><p>"He may be improving a bit," he said smoothly. Beside him, Ed relaxed minimally and turned away from Roy, rolling onto his side to face the wall. Roy frowned a bit, but said nothing about it.</p><p><em>"That's so good to hear!"</em> Alphonse said excitedly. Really, any improvement would have been a relief, and Roy wished he wasn't lying. <em>"Has he been taking all of his medicine? You know he can tell which pills are the sleep aids and the pain meds now. He'll take them out and hide them if he doesn't want them."</em></p><p>Roy tossed Ed's back an irritated look. That just figured. "He had a long night last night and we both honestly forgot about his medication, but I'll be sure he gets all of his pills this evening," Roy promised. He kept going before Al could properly admonish him. "When are you scheduled to arrive in Xing?"</p><p><em>"I'm not sure,"</em> Alphonse answered with a tinge of unease. <em>"According to my maps, it might take me as long as four weeks, even though I don't have to stop for anything. The sand will slow me down, but I'll be moving as fast as I can. Maybe I can cut off a few days if I hurry."</em></p><p>"Don't do anything stupid, Alphonse," Roy warned. "Take all the time you need to be careful."</p><p><em>"Yes, sir,"</em> Al responded immediately.<em> "I will. I'm not impulsive like Brother."</em></p><p>Roy's lip quirked at that. No one was as impulsive as Fullmetal. "And I want you to call as soon as you get there, and not a second later, understand?"</p><p><em>"Yes, I understand."</em> He paused. <em>"Thank you for taking care of Brother."</em></p><p>Roy felt his insides twinge. "Be safe, Alphonse."</p><p>
  <em>"Thank you, sir. I'll call when I can."</em>
</p><p>"Good." Roy wanted to say more, but he didn't know what. "Goodbye, Alphonse."</p><p>Alphonse paused like he'd wished Roy would say more, too. <em>"Goodbye, Colonel."</em></p><p>Roy hung up the phone and sighed. "Well, Ed, let's go get you some breakfast. I've got some research I want to get started on before . . . Ed?" The boy wasn't moving or even seeming to be listening to him. Had he fallen asleep?</p><p>Roy got to his feet and walked to the other side of the bed to get a good look at him. He was staring ahead with red eyes, his blank gaze pained as tears streamed down his face.</p><p>Alarmed, Roy leaned in closer. "Ed, what's wrong?" he demanded, putting a hand on the boy's automail shoulder.</p><p>As expected, Ed flinched, but it was more reflexive than anything. "Nothing," he responded thickly, bringing up a flesh hand to rub his face. "Nothing, I'm fine."</p><p>Roy frowned, completely ignoring Ed's claim. "Come on, Ed, do your injuries hurt? I know you haven't had your pain medication since yesterday morning. Or is it your eyes? Do they sting?" Was he supposed to get eye drops or something? Roy hadn't even thought to ask Alphonse about anything aside from his typical pills. If so, then he was long overdue them. Didn't Alphonse make him a list? Maybe it was buried in his research spread across the coffee table. "Ed, you're going to have to help me. I don't know what all you're supposed to be getting."</p><p>Ed didn't say anything to that, so Roy pulled the boy's medical bag out from under his bed and began going through its contents. He'd get Silas to make him a checklist or something the next day, but for now, he supposed he needed to figure it out on his own. "Ed, I need some help here."</p><p>"Eye drops. Twice a day. Should be in the bag."</p><p>Roy scowled. "You need to tell me these things, Ed! How am I supposed to help you keep up with them if I don't even know?" He found two different bottles, one for pain and one to relax the ocular muscles. "Which one?"</p><p>"Both."</p><p>Roy took them then moved to sit on the bed above Ed. He gently put his hands on the sides of the child's face and tilted his head up and back, Ed's thin cheekbones digging into his fingertips. Ed grimaced, neck tightening as if to pull away, but he held still as tears continued to drip down his cheeks and took a shuddering breath.</p><p>Either he was in a great deal of pain, or something else was wrong.</p><p>"Here's the first couple," Roy announced, holding the bottle over a pale, scarred eye. Roy hadn't really been this close to them before. It was like looking into a murky pool, the once brilliant gold dulled into something stagnant and desolate. It was disorienting staring into them, remembering when they once used to be so bright and animated, now lifeless and detached.</p><p>Just like Ed.</p><p>Ed gritted his teeth and nodded and Roy returned his focus. The drops fell like bright crystals from the dropper and splashed against its watery surface. Ed gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, pulling away. "Not yet, Ed," Roy said quietly, pulling his head back to him again as carefully as he could. "Does it hurt?"</p><p>Ed shook his head, but his expression said otherwise.</p><p>"You know, it's not very smart to lie when you can't keep the truth off your face."</p><p>"Shut up, Mustang," Ed said, but there was no fire in it. Just a weak, choked sort of plea.</p><p>Roy frowned. "Ed," he began slowly. "It's okay to miss your brother."</p><p>Ed kept his eyes shut, but his brows raised just a bit in surprise, then frowned deeper. Roy had apparently hit the correct sore spot. "Shut up. Not right now, Mustang." His eyes gradually blinked open again. "Hurry."</p><p>Roy knew that tone well enough. He was struggling with a flashback or a panic attack. If his voice didn't give it away, the way his chest was heaving should have. "You've got to open your eyes more, kid," Roy said, and Ed tried, but he kept screwing them shut every time Roy's hand drew near. "I'm going to help you, okay?" he said, lifting a hand to help pry open the other eye.</p><p><em>"No!"</em> Ed hissed, jerking away and covering his eyes with his hands. "No, no, don't touch them!"</p><p>Roy froze. Was he slipping? Did he even know Roy was there anymore? "Ed?" he tried softly.</p><p>Slowly, Ed's breathing became less erratic. His chest moved almost mechanically as he quieted, inhaling, holding, then exhaling in trained, practiced movements. When he finally spoke, his voice was thin and shaky. "They . . . they held my eyes open. When they poured acid in them." He eased himself up on an elbow, flesh hand still covering his eyes, but Roy could make out the slack, numb expression between his fingers. "That was the last thing I saw . . . the last time . . ." he stopped, as if catching himself. "Just . . . just don't touch them, okay?"</p><p>Roy's insides went cold. Ed never spoke of his time in Drachma, never volunteering information to him or Alphonse or anyone else. It made the revelation all the more jarring and unsettling. Ed's initial medical analysis had told them that Ed had lost his sight from acid burns, but to hear how it had happened . . . well, that was something else.</p><p>"I won't touch them," he promised, his own voice sounding thick even to himself. "If you lie back down, we can finish."</p><p>Ed nodded, then paused. "Do you think . . . can we do it sitting up? It's just that . . . I don't think I can lie down right now. They'd strap me to a table . . . " His breathing took off again, like he'd been running for miles. "To the table . . . the table the table . . ." His hand shook and reached for his neck. "No more . . . no more <em>don't touch me."</em></p><p><em>"Edward,"</em> Roy said, inserting as much authority as he could muster into the command. Ed jumped, head twisting to listen with surprised eyes. Roy had his undivided attention and didn't dare move, lest he startle the boy into a full-blown flashback. "Get a hold of yourself. Are you still with me?"</p><p>Ed offered a wide-eyed, mute nod.</p><p>"I'm going to stand up and come to you," Roy informed, doing so as he spoke. "Now, tilt your head back. That's it, now I'm going to put in the eye drops. I know they sting, just try to keep your eyes open for me." Ed did well holding his sore eyes open as Roy finished off his medication. "Now," he said, screwing the caps on the bottles and throwing them back in the bag. "We're going downstairs, and I'm going to make breakfast and give you your medication. You're going to sit at the table until you finish every last scrap on your plate, understand?"</p><p>Ed held his blanket tightly around him and nodded, wiping his eyes on the corners of the fabric. Roy got a hand under his elbow and pulled him forward. He didn't say a word as they made it all the way to the landing, and Roy was growing concerned. "So, want to tell me what's on your mind?" he asked, guiding him to the first step. "Stairs now."</p><p>Ed felt forward with his bare flesh foot to find the drop, then stepped down with Roy. Roy wished he could get the boy to wear a sock on his foot, but being denied his primary sense, he said he needed to feel the floor under him to know where he was, so Roy allowed him to keep his feet bare despite the freezing weather and his appalling body weight that made keeping him warm very difficult.</p><p>"Nothing," was the only answer he got.</p><p>"Ed—"</p><p>"Fine, it's nothing I want to talk about," he elaborated, frowning with mild irritation. "Just drop it."</p><p>Roy decided to keep silent. Clearly it had to do with Alphonse's absence, and clearly Ed wasn't in the mood to talk about it, so Roy would save it for later. "What do you want to eat?" he asked, parking Ed in a chair and moving into the kitchen.</p><p>"I don't care," Ed said, picking up his legs and propping them on the seat in front of him, chin resting on top. Roy didn't like it. It made him look too young and too helpless somehow. That wasn't how Edward Elric was supposed to look. "I'm not hungry."</p><p>Of course he wasn't. "You were ravenous just a few days ago, and now you won't eat anything," Roy pointed out irritably, pulling out a carton of eggs. "Why is that?"</p><p>"It's nothi—"</p><p>"I know, it's nothing," Roy interrupted, putting a pan on the stove as he felt his frustration mount and start a dull ache somewhere behind his eyeballs. Why was it that the kid could make nothing easy?!</p><p>Ed made a pained face before his expression crumbled into something else even more vulnerable. "You don't have to be a jerk, Mustang," he muttered, hugging himself.</p><p>Roy instantly felt guilty. "Sorry," he offered lamely. "You're right, I'm sorry." He sighed, cracking eggs into the skillet and watching Ed to make sure he didn't react poorly to the sound, feeling like a jerk and worse.</p><p>Ed just grunted an acknowledging response and said nothing.</p><p>Well, Roy had to tell him sometime.</p><p>"I've got some bad news," he announced, then cringed with how he had said it. Bad news? How was Ed supposed to react with a set up like that?</p><p>Ed cringed, too. Roy could practically hear him wondering what else could possibly go wrong at this point. Then his expression quirked into something hard and cynical. "Lucky me. What is it?"</p><p>Roy watched the eggs cook and tried to think of a gentle way to tell him. Nothing came to him, though. "Well, tomorrow evening the team is coming to discuss some . . . work matters."</p><p>"I'll just wait upstairs," Ed said tersely, voice laced with apprehension. Just that was enough to make Ed uncomfortable.</p><p>"That's not all . . . tomorrow night I'll need your full report of your mission in Drachma."</p><p>What little color that was in the boy's face drained away entirely, leaving a wide-eyed ghost. "W-what?"</p><p>Roy left the eggs to cook for themselves and approached Ed, ever cautious of his hair-trigger. "Hey, come on, Ed, it won't be that bad. You just have to give me a summary, and then it'll be over with." That was a lie. They would need much more to put together anything of value, but how else could he possibly reassure him?</p><p>Ed looked like the shock would do him in. Every last trace of irritation was gone, evaporated like smoke. He looked fragile, like a shattered mirror that only needed a gentle touch to fall apart. "Mustang . . ." he breathed, wrapping his arms around his legs and holding himself. "Mustang . . . don't," he whispered. <em>"Please don't."</em></p><p>Roy couldn't stand it when he begged like that.</p><p>"Edward," Roy said softly, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Ed flinched violently away from it and continued to plea as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. "Please no, please don't . . . <em>please no . . ."</em></p><p>"Edward, stay with me," Roy urged, replacing his hand and gripping Ed's shoulder tightly.</p><p>Ed jumped, but this time he reached up to wrap a hand around Roy's sleeve. Some of the clarity seemed to return to his gaze, but it was tinged with apprehension. "Mustang?"</p><p>"Right here, kid. Just stay with me, okay? Nothing's going to happen, I promise."</p><p>Ed shifted in his seat, sidling closer to Roy. "You're real, right? You're real and they're not?"</p><p>Roy wasn't sure what exactly was going on in Ed's volatile mind, but he wasn't going to strain him further asking for clarification. "That's right, Ed," he agreed, his other arm instinctively slipping around the boy's frail shoulders in a protective embrace. "That's right."</p><p>"I'm sorry," he said, sounding breathless as he buried his head in Roy's side so he could use his real hand to hold his throat. "I'm sorry, what were we talking about?"</p><p>Roy's own breathing faltered.</p><p>"It . . . it was nothing."</p><p>Ed remembered some time later.</p><p>Roy couldn't take it back that time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed felt like a coward.</p><p>Actually, he was probably worse than a coward.</p><p>"Ed, are we seriously going to do this again?" Mustang asked from the other side of the bathroom door. He sounded tired and old, and Ed hated that he was the reason for it. He honestly still wasn't sure why Mustang put up with him. "Come on, Fullmetal, they're going to be here any minute! At least come down and say hi. They're bringing you dinner, anyways."</p><p>Ed burrowed deeper into his blanket, resting his head on the bathtub wall. "I'll wait up here."</p><p>Mustang sighed. "Ed, come on, you haven't been around another human being besides Hawkeye, Winry and Silas for weeks."</p><p>Ed felt the beginnings of anger stirring in his gut. "And I'm completely fine with that. I already told you I'd . . . I'll give my report. I don't need to socialize before that."</p><p>He couldn't handle it; all those people staring at him, milling around, trying to listen and keep track of everything . . . just thinking about it made his head hurt and his heart hammer in his chest.</p><p>And he didn't need eyes to know that he looked like something out of one of those horror flickers they showed down at the theater. Just thinking about how they were going to stare . . . he didn't look like Edward Elric. He looked like a corpse. What would they think of him, seeing him that way?</p><p>"They've missed you, you know," Mustang murmured gently.</p><p>Ed scowled. He knew Mustang was trying to be soothing, but Ed was not in the mood. "And I've missed being able to <em>see</em>, Mustang. I'll wait here until the others are gone."</p><p>That seemed to settle it for the Colonel. He sighed and his footsteps faded away, thumping down the stairs. Not long afterward the doorbell rang and a new voice sounded down below. He couldn't help the thrill of fear that fluttered in his gut at the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in so long it was almost unfamiliar. Fuery and the Colonel exchanged words, and Ed was able to pick out every other one or so before the doorbell rang again.</p><p>He listened until he had identified Hawkeye, Falman, Armstrong, Breda and Havoc as well. Six people he had once known, but now felt like strangers, milling down just below him.</p><p>He was such coward. Hiding out from people he had considered, if not friends, then close acquaintances, and in a bathtub, of all places! Was this really what he had come to?</p><p>He curled tighter into himself, burrowing deeper into the blanket.</p><p>
  <em>Are you going to let this beat you? </em>
</p><p>With an angry grunt, Ed pushed himself up. He would prove to himself and to Mustang that he could do it. He could go down there and say hello.</p><p>Then he could come right back up.</p><p>He felt his way to the door and eased it open, allowing him to hear the conversation below unhindered.</p><p>"—to hear!" Armstrong was saying, his voice booming through the living area below. "Tell me, where is the lad, then?"</p><p>"Upstairs," Mustang said. "He's had a pretty rough day, so he's resting it off." Ed wasn't sure why, but he was a bit touched by the way Mustang was covering for him. It didn't make him sound nearly as pathetic as he actually was.</p><p>"A shame," Armstrong rumbled.</p><p>Ed could now clearly make out the sharp scent of spicy food and the smell of people. He heard them moving, heard dull thumps, the clang of utensils, and sliding sounds as food was probably passed around the small dining room table. He crept to the edge of the wall and stopped, unable to summon the will to move further.</p><p>He just wasn't quite ready yet.</p><p>"How's he been doing?" Breda asked around a mouthful of something. Probably Xingese food, by the smell of it.</p><p>There was a pause, but Ed didn't know if it was thoughtful, or if Mustang's mouth was just full. "Honestly, I don't know. Since Alphonse left, it's been all uphill. I'd like to think he's made some headway, but I'm just not sure."</p><p>That was a very respectful, polite way of saying Edward was hopeless.</p><p>And despite having known that logically all along, he felt a tiny flame of hope he hadn't even realized existed flicker and die inside of him.</p><p>He suddenly lost the will to go downstairs after all and quietly returned to his bathtub.</p><p>For if anything was worse than them staring at him, it was them staring at him like they knew he would never be okay again.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy put the box of takeout aside with a contented sigh. It was nice being surrounded by friends and comrades again. It was nice not to feel so alone.</p><p>If only Ed would come down and enjoy it with him . . .</p><p>Roy shut that out of his mind. Now wasn't the time for that. They had important matters to discuss, and Roy had no room to let emotions come in and cloud his judgment. He couldn't mess this up, too.</p><p>"Alright, what do we have?" he asked as Falman and Fuery cleared the rest of the food from the table and Hawkeye produced a number of manila folders from her bag. Armstrong spread a map across the tabletop and Breda quickly pulled his box of noodles out from under it before it could be blanketed in Xing hill country.</p><p>"We know that on the twenty-fourth of August, Fuhrer King Bradley issued the order for Major Edward Elric to investigate a string of robberies in Amestrian military storage facilities just north of North City," Hawkeye said, producing a set of documents outlining Ed's orders at the time. "He was to locate and apprehend the perpetrators."</p><p>"Havoc, did you ever find anything on what was actually stolen?" Roy asked. "Or even what was being held in the facilities?"</p><p>Havoc shook his head, accepting a folder Hawkeye passed to him. "No luck, Boss. Short of going up there and breaking in myself, there's no way I'm going to find out what's up there. They keep throwing around words like 'classified' and 'need-to-know.'" He frowned, flipping open the file. "Nothing but dead ends."</p><p>"Falman, any leads on who filed the initial complaint about the thefts?" Roy asked.</p><p>"Yes, sir," the older man said, coming to sit directly in front of Roy between Armstrong and Fuery. He thumbed through the stack of files Hawkeye had placed in the middle of the table and finally selected one, pulling out a leaf of paper and passing it to Roy. "The complaint was filed by a Lieutenant Colonel Bearden, but further investigation into the soldier in question determined he was killed in action four days after we lost contact with Major Elric."</p><p>"Well, isn't <em>that</em> convenient," Breda grumbled around a mouthful of noodles.</p><p>"It could be a coincidence," Fuery said, self-consciously adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.</p><p>Roy frowned at the document Falman had given him. "There's no such thing as coincidence, Fuery." He perused the file on Bearden, noting he was killed in a skirmish on the border. "Were there any survivors? Witnesses to Bearden's death?"</p><p>"None that I have been able to track down," Falman reported.</p><p>"Very suspicious," Armstrong rumbled, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "I may be able to uncover something on the matter, given time. My sister might be able to help us."</p><p>That wasn't a bad idea. "Look into it," Roy said. "I don't need to tell you to be discreet."</p><p>Armstrong nodded. "Of course."</p><p>"Fuery?"</p><p>The smaller man fiddled with the papers in front of him. "I've managed to get a bug on all lines from North City and the surrounding towns. I've been recording all calls and screening them as time allows. So far the most interesting conversation was between a man calling the Fuhrer about reporting in. He never stated his name and seemed to be purposely vague."</p><p>"The Fuhrer?" Havoc asked in discomfort, chewing an unlit cigarette nervously. "You think he's somehow involved?"</p><p>"I'm not ruling out anyone until I have all the intel," Roy informed brusquely. The thought of this being something so high up the chain of command was unsettling, to be sure, but Roy wasn't going to let that stand in the way. "Do you have the transcript?"</p><p>Fuery slid a file across the table and Roy picked it up, quickly scanning it. Observing nothing more unusual than Fuery's note of them being too vague, he set it aside for further study. "Good work, Fuery. Breda?"</p><p>Breda quickly swallowed a mouthful of noodles. "My buddy up North says he'll get the files on recent crimes sent down as soon as he can. Apparently they're having the same problems we are; paperwork missing, red tape, the whole shebang. In the meantime, I took the liberty of doing a bit of snooping into the crime scene." He put his box down and picked up a folder.</p><p>"We've already been over those photos a hundred times, Breda," Havoc pointed out, voice laced with a frustration they all felt. "What could we possibly have missed?"</p><p>"Well, nothing that's obvious," he said, sliding a page to Roy. "I managed to find some info on the previous owner of that shack, though. Turns out, he's retired military."</p><p>"Who?" Roy asked.</p><p>"A former Brigadier General Sherman."</p><p>Something clicked in the back of Roy's mind. He knew that name from somewhere . . . He scanned the paper Breda gave him, eyes resting on the small square photo clipped to the top. It was an older man, probably in his sixties, with severe features, gray cropped hair, and scowling gray eyes. To say he looked like a grumpy old man would have been an understatement.</p><p>"Sir?" Hawkeye asked. "Do you recognize him?"</p><p>Roy stared harder. "I think so . . . I'm not sure where I've seen him though. How did you come up with this, Breda?"</p><p>"Well, the paper trail was almost nonexistent, but a local electrician still had his name on a receipt for some repairs from over ten years ago."</p><p>Havoc whistled. "Wow, who holds on to paperwork that long?"</p><p>"Just be thankful he did, or we'd be looking at another dead end." Roy continued to stare at the photo. This could be the breakthrough they needed to finally get moving in the right direction. "Good work, Breda. Starting tomorrow, I want you and Falman to use all of your free time finding out more about Sherman. I want his whole life's story, right down to his shoe size, understand?"</p><p>"Sir!" both responded.</p><p>The rest of their meeting didn't last long. Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door, and Roy rose to answer it.</p><p>Silas stood on the darkened porch, wrapped in an oversized coat with a red scarf around his neck and a grin on his face. "Ah, Roy! I hope I'm not early? I seem to walk so much faster in the cold!" He stepped in, stomping snow off of his boots on the rug and putting his medical bag down by the door as he babbled. "That's something nice about the cold: you certainly don't dilly dally. Ah, look! You have guests!" Before Roy could get a word in edgewise, the slight man hanged his coat up and snatched his bag back up, headed for Havoc. The blond had followed Roy to the living room, and now stood in the middle, chewing his cigarette absently.</p><p>"Jean! So good to see you again!" Silas exclaimed, taking Havoc's hand and pumping it enthusiastically. "Not heeding my advice on that smoking habit of yours, I see. Ah, well, good for business!" he winked.</p><p>"That's me: job security," Havoc grinned around his cigarette. "Good to see you, Doc."</p><p>Silas turned to see the rest of Roy's team at the table. "Ah, good evening! Riza, you're looking well! Oh, I don't think any of the rest of us have been introduced—"</p><p>Roy decided to curtail the man's enthusiasm before he befriended every one of them and invited them all to his next polka festival. "Jim, if you want to head on up to see Ed, I'll dismiss down here and be there in a moment." Ed seemed to get along very well with the young doctor, all things considered, and Roy wasn't too concerned about monitoring the boy with Silas around.</p><p>"Excellent idea!" Silas agreed, hefting his bag over his shoulder. "We'll just go ahead and get started, then. Where can I find him?"</p><p>"The upstairs bathroom."</p><p>"Very good!" Silas turned and jaunted up the stairs, whistling all the way.</p><p>Roy turned back to his team to find that, with the exception of Hawkeye, they were looking at him with a mixture of concern and bemusement.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Breda's frown deepened. "I thought you said Ed was just tired and resting."</p><p>"He is," Roy said dismissively. Though he didn't make it a habit of lying to his subordinates, one thing Ed didn't need was Roy airing his shortcomings to the people he cared about. His pride might have been damaged, but it was still intact, and the information was not Roy's to share.</p><p>"Then why is he hiding in the bathroom?" Havoc asked.</p><p>"Who says he's hiding?" Roy asked, voice wavering between irritated and uncomfortable. Havoc would see for himself soon enough, and though the others had an idea of that state Ed was in, the less they knew, the better. "Anyhow, that's not something we need to discuss. Does everyone understand their orders?"</p><p>A chorus of "sirs" sounded around the table.</p><p>"Good. Well, then, that's all for tonight. Dismissed."</p><p>Roy saw each one of them out the door, until only Havoc and Hawkeye were left standing in the entryway. "Where do you want us to set up, Boss?" Havoc asked, picking up a pair of messenger bags from underneath the coat rack.</p><p>"We can use the spare bedroom. The one Ed's not using." It was the same place Ed had endured his automail attachment. It wouldn't give him any comfort during the debriefing, but it would help keep his fears localized to one room instead of giving him negative associations all over the house. "Give me a minute to make sure Ed is prepared before you come up." Roy left them in the living room and mounted the stairs.</p><p>He heard Silas babbling cheerily from Ed's bedroom before he made it all the way up.</p><p>"Tell me, have you ever looked into the subject?" he was asking. Roy walked in to see Ed sitting on the bed, shirt absent but blanket still draping his thin shoulders as the young doctor examined his still-healing torso.</p><p>Ed was shifting around in discomfort, obviously struggling with being touched in such vulnerable areas in such an exposed state, but Roy knew well by now that Silas' enthusiastic conversation was a tool of distraction, and did much to ease the boy's fears. "No," he responded. "We had a piano, but none of us knew how to play it."</p><p>"A shame, you really should pick up the art." Silas stripped away another bandage. "I hear you're quite the genius. I doubt you would have any trouble at all!"</p><p>Ed froze, tilting his head to the side. Roy knew he'd been heard. "Who's there?" he asked, instinctively pulling the blanket around himself.</p><p>"Just me," Roy announced, walking in and shutting the door behind them. That would give them enough privacy for Hawkeye and Havoc to set up in the other room and not disturb Ed too much.</p><p>Ed looked embarrassed . . . no, that wasn't quite right, he looked ashamed, as if he thought he'd done something wrong and now Roy would find out about it. He curled in himself, and it was all Silas could do to coax him to sit up a little straighter. "Ah, Roy!" Silas said, voice deceptively cheery as he frowned down at his patient. "Yes, we'll be needing another sandwich, if you don't mind. With plenty of mayo."</p><p>Roy sighed. "His weight's still down?"</p><p>"If he didn't have those metal limbs, your ventilation system might blow him away," Silas said absently, glancing at an open chart on the bed beside Ed.</p><p>Ed's blank gaze hardened just a bit. "I'm not small," he announced, straightening just a bit.</p><p>"Of course," Silas relented with a small smile. "I'm going to pull the blanket back just a bit now." Ed's fingers tightened their hold, then wearily he let Silas pull the fabric back to expose a metal shoulder. Silas examined it closely. "Tell me, how has your automail felt? Sore at all? Any pain?"</p><p>Ed shifted. "Some," he admitted quietly. "Just around the ports, though. Not phantom limb pain or anything."</p><p>"That's what I'm a bit concerned about," Silas said, poking where flesh joined metal. "If you don't start gaining weight soon, I'm afraid your body won't be able to support the automail anymore. The arm is especially vulnerable, since gravity is constantly pulling it down, putting extra stress on what's left of your shoulder socket. You might start to experience automail rejection, and though I'm no expert on the subject, I do know the signs. The skin here is a bit red, which is never a good thing."</p><p>Ed seemed to pale a bit at the news. "I . . . I can't lose my arm," he said weakly, clutching it to him like a beloved stuffed animal. Then his eyes shifted and Roy knew they were losing him. "I can't lose it again, I can't <em>I won't let you take it!"</em> he snarled, pulling back. "That's right, <em>you just try!</em> I'll mop the floor with your faces!"</p><p>The very last thing Roy needed was a blind, scared Ed transmuting his arm into a weapon. "Edward," he said softly.</p><p>Ed stopped moving entirely, eyes widening. Then he began to tremble. He ducked his head, hiding his face in his hands, and took a shuddering breath.</p><p>Almost like he was crying . . .</p><p>"I'll go check on that sandwich," Silas said gently, giving Roy a knowing look as he turned for the door. "I'll be back in a moment."</p><p>Roy stood and watched the boy for a second, uncertain as to what he was supposed to do. Then, he crossed the room, sitting down on the bed beside him. "Edward?"</p><p>"I did it . . . I did it again . . ." He sniffed, definitely crying now. "I can't seem to stop, Mustang, but . . ."</p><p>Then he stopped. He looked up, and he gave Roy the most imploring, heartbreaking look a blind boy could possibly muster. "Mustang, I <em>am</em> getting better, right?" he whispered, voice desperate and pained. "Right? I need to be getting better, Mustang, don't tell me that I'm not. <em>I am,"</em> he said, the last punctuated by a sob. "I am . . . I am . . ." The rest of it was lost in his tears as he shrank in on himself, hiding his bare, scarred body underneath the blanket and a tide of loose golden hair.</p><p>"Ed," Roy breathed, pulling the child into his arms. Ed allowed it, clinging to him with the same desperation he had clung to Alphonse and sobbing into his shoulder. It felt like hugging a skeleton. "Ed, of course you're getting better. You've made a lot of progress," Roy assured him, stroking his back in soothing circles. "Of course you're getting better."</p><p>Against him, Ed shook his head. "You didn't say . . . that's not what you told them," he whimpered.</p><p>Roy tried to keep himself from stiffening in surprise. "You were listening?"</p><p>Ed nodded into his shirt. "You don't believe it, but I am, Mustang." He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone. "I am getting better. I have to be, I can't live like this, Colonel. How can anyone live like this?!"</p><p>Roy tried to control the way his breath caught then. Anytime Ed broached the subject of living, it sent a thrill of fear through Roy's insides, because with the state of mind he was in, to think he was having thoughts of suicide wouldn't have been a stretch. It would be so childishly easy for Ed to just end his life. All he had to do was throw himself off the landing, or slit his wrist on a shard of mirror. It would be nothing difficult, and Roy wanted his mind as far away from such things as possible.</p><p>The boy continued to sob brokenly into his shirt, and Roy rocked him back and forth the way he had seen Hughes do for little Elysia when she was scared or hurt. "Edward, you know better than that," he said with a sigh. Ed stiffened a bit in his arms. "You of all people know that just because things aren't getting better now doesn't mean they won't."</p><p>"I can't keep doing this. I can't be like this anymore, Colonel," he said, fisting Roy's shirt in a hopeless, anxious way. "I'm tired of it. I'm just tired." And he sounded it. He sounded like an old man trapped in a child's body, and it made Roy's heart break.</p><p>"If this is about tonight, Ed, we don't have to do it now," Roy soothed. "I won't force you, not until you feel up to it."</p><p>Ed shook. "No. No, I'm tired of being afraid more than anything. I'm tired of being a coward."</p><p>Roy's grip tightened. "Don't talk like that," he ordered, his own voice starting to quiver the faintest bit. "You're not a coward, Ed. You're the farthest thing from a coward."</p><p>"I'm going to do it," he said, as if not hearing what Roy was saying. "I have to. I have to do this tonight."</p><p>"Ed, you don't have to prove anything. If that's the whole reason for this, I won't allow it."</p><p>"I have to prove it to myself. If I can't get through this . . . if I can't handle this, then maybe I don't deserve to get better. Equivalent Exchange. I've screwed up too much, and Al's lost so much. It's not fair for me to have so much when he has so little."</p><p>"Fullmetal, stop that right now," Roy hissed in his ear, making the boy stiffen once again, as if he were afraid Roy was going to do something to him. Roy just held him tighter to himself, like he could physically banish all of the pain and self-loathing and fear in the boy's mind. "There is nothing 'equivalent' about what's been done to you. Absolutely nothing. I won't have you talking like that."</p><p>Ed curled into Roy, but Roy wasn't sure if he was seeking comfort or trying to hide from the admonishment. "You don't know that, Mustang," he sniffed.</p><p>"Kid—"</p><p>"I'm doing it tonight," he said, pulling back. Roy reluctantly let him go and watched as he ran a hand down his face, wiping away tear tracks and misery. "If I don't do it tonight, I don't think I'll be able to do it."</p><p>"Ed, please don't let it be about what I said," Roy murmured, begged. He couldn't watch this shred the child apart just because he thought he had something to prove to Roy. Emotion made his voice thick and the words he tried to get out next failed and died in his throat.</p><p>Ed seemed to notice, his gaze more focused again and he tilted his head to the side, listening. "Mustang?" he asked.</p><p>Roy took a shuddering breath.</p><p>He was tired, too.</p><p>"Ed—"</p><p>The knock on the door forestalled Roy's words, and made Ed jump just a bit closer to Roy. Silas poked his head in, gaze sweeping over the both of them to make sure he wasn't interrupting anything. Which he was, but there was nothing to be done about it now.</p><p>"I brought the sandwich!" he announced, holding his culinary creation before him on a napkin like an idol on an altar. "I hope you like cheese and ham. I was going to put cheese on tuna, but Jean claimed people aren't supposed to like that sort of thing . . . your Second Lieutenant might be a bit closed-minded, Roy," he informed with a grin, placing the meal on Ed's lap.</p><p>Ed turned a bit green. "I can't eat that right now," he said weakly, gingerly feeling for it with an automail hand before relocating it to Roy's hand. "I'll eat later."</p><p>Silas frowned. "Ed, do you feel ill?" he asked, moving to his medical bag and rummaging through it.</p><p>"I'm fine," he answered. "Let's just do this before I lose it, okay?" He felt around beside him and, with no small amount of reluctance, Roy pushed his shirt to the searching hand.</p><p>Ed pulled his shirt on over his collection of fresh bandages and Silas ceased his search for whatever he'd been looking for. "Alright," he relented. "Well, I'm going to write you a prescription. Something to give you a bit of an appetite, hopefully. In all honesty, Ed, this can't go on. Have you been getting knots in your shoulder and thigh?"</p><p>Ed grimaced as he slowly buttoned his shirt. The buttons weren't aligned, but Roy didn't point it out. "Some."</p><p>"Getting worse?"</p><p>"Some."</p><p>"Thought so," Silas sighed. "I'll also get you something to rub in after showers. Should help to relax the muscles, with some stretching. You might also try massaging them, Roy," he suggested, scribbling on a pad of paper. "That and putting on some weight will help more than anything."</p><p>Ed scowled. "No thanks," he muttered. "I think I can handle that on my own."</p><p>"And if you're ready for it, we'll get a specialized physical therapist to start visiting," he continued as if he hadn't heard Ed at all, still engrossed in his writing. "I think it'll do wonders for your self-confidence if we can get you more independent, don't you think?"</p><p>Ed blushed but didn't otherwise respond to the question. "Are we done?" he asked.</p><p>"That should take care of it!" Silas announced, tearing the prescriptions from his tablet and handing them to Roy before shoving the rest of his belongings into his bag. Then he eyed the sandwich on the nightstand with a thoughtful sort of look. "Shame to waste such a lovely sandwich. I'll see if Jean wants it and meet you next door!" He grabbed his things and the food and bounded from the room with more energy than Roy thought should have been reasonable.</p><p>His eyes wondered back to Ed as the boy tried to stand. Roy put an arm under his elbow to steady him. "Are you sure, Ed?" he asked softly. He didn't look ready.</p><p><em>Roy</em> wasn't ready.</p><p>But the flicker of self-doubt in the boy's scarred eyes died, and then there was nothing but resolve in its wake.</p><p>For a second, Roy saw the Fullmetal Alchemist standing before him.</p><p>"Let's go."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed hadn't had his hair braided since his first week in the basement. His hair tie had broken, and then his arm was taken, and then after he had gotten out of the hospital, it felt safer to have it around his face and neck as just one more layer of security, something to hide behind.</p><p>It wasn't exactly braided now, but he had pulled it back into a low tail at the base of his neck. He felt exposed and vulnerable, but he felt all the stronger for it.</p><p>Because he was going to give this stupid report if it killed him, and anything that helped him do it would be welcomed.</p><p>He shuffled slowly down the hall, one arm outstretched and the other securing his blanket around his shoulders. His whole body ached, and his shoulder more than anything, but that wasn't going to stop him. He had to get through this. He simply had to.</p><p>He could hear Mustang slowly following behind him, practically shadowing him like he was afraid Ed would break just walking to the next room. "Edward . . ." he began.</p><p>Ed ignored him. He had just found the door, anyway. He could make out sounds of shifting paper and pencils rolling across a desk and could both hear and feel the footsteps vibrating through the floor underneath his bare feet. He fumbled to find the handle, then pushed it open before he lost his nerve.</p><p>All movement inside slowly came to a halt.</p><p>He could feel their eyes on him, burning him like a hot iron. He almost backed away.</p><p>But Mustang was behind him, and he couldn't leave. Not with Mustang watching him. He had to do this.</p><p>So he cleared his throat and tried to remember what glaring felt like on his face. "What are you staring at?" he demanded, before a thrill of fear closed his throat.</p><p>Demands meant pain. They would hit him for that for sure.</p><p>He took a slow, tentative step back.</p><p>He backed right into Mustang. The older man put an arm on his shoulder and didn't move. Ed let his earth-and-mesquite scent and strong presence take some of the edge off of his terror. He took a deep breath.</p><p>Of course they wouldn't hit him. This wasn't that kind of interrogation.</p><p>"Hey, Chief," Havoc's voice piped up, more gentle than Ed had ever heard it before. "You're looking good."</p><p>"Liar," Ed said, struggling to keep his scowl in place and his voice from shaking. He could do this. He could pretend to be himself. Who else could play the part better?</p><p>"Who's here?" He hated having to ask, calling attention to his disability like that. He hated not knowing.</p><p>"I'm here," Havoc said from probably the other side of the room.</p><p>"Hawkeye," the First Lieutenasnt announced not too far in front of him.</p><p>"Jim!" Silas chirped from his left.</p><p>Mustang shifted behind him and the movement made him realize he was leaning back more than he had thought, as if his body were trying to escape without his permission. He took another hesitant step into the room, but then he found he couldn't take another. He didn't even know where the chair was, anyway.</p><p>Yeah, that was as good an excuse as any.</p><p>"Where?" he asked, latching on to Mustang's sleeve. The familiar fabric and the man's body heat helped calm the fear he felt twisting in his gut, steadying him and focusing his erratic mind.</p><p>But as thankful as he was for Mustang, he wished it was Alphonse standing beside him.</p><p>Mustang wordlessly led him forward a few steps. Then Ed's flesh knee buckled and he would have fallen if not for the older man gripping his arm and holding him upright.</p><p>Someone inhaled sharply on the other side of the room, and there was a sudden shift, like someone jumping up to help.</p><p>Ed felt his face blush furiously as Mustang righted him. He was so pathetically terrified he couldn't even walk straight. He tried to keep going, but his body just wouldn't have it and he stood still.</p><p>"Ed?" Mustang asked, just a whisper in his ear. "We can stop this right now. You just have to ask."</p><p>He swallowed back a frustrated groan. "No," he said. "I'm doing this. Just get me to a stupid chair."</p><p>Ed was ashamed to admit that he was mostly dragged across the room, Mustang hauling him across the carpet like a balking mule until finally sitting him down in a chair. He hesitantly felt in front of him, hands grazing a smooth tabletop and brushing against some stray papers obviously not meant for him. He knew from where Havoc had spoken that he was across the table from him. He could hear him breathing and smell the lingering smell of smoke.</p><p>He tried not to recoil from a fire he knew didn't exist.</p><p>Hawkeye was beside Mustang on his left, her lavender scent strangely comforting, something to focus on instead of smoke and fire and pain. Silas was sitting right next to Ed on his other side, well within arms' reach, but that was fine for Ed. He didn't mind Silas, for the most part. It almost seemed like the man went out of his way to make enough noise for Ed to always know where exactly he was, and Ed always appreciated it. Even now, Ed could hear him scribbling something, his pen scratching against the paper and a finger softly drumming a steady beat on the tabletop. They were sounds he could hone in on when his mind started to race, something to keep him from going completely over the edge.</p><p>Mustang sat down beside him, so close that Ed's flesh shoulder and automail knee pressed against him. Almost without his permission, his body moved closer to the older man, curling against his side like he often did with Alphonse. He could feel the colonel's heartbeat thumping against his side and breathed easier for it. Ed's cheeks burned in embarrassment, but his heart stopped its frantic racing, calming to a pulse that struggled to match Mustang's.</p><p>Almost hesitantly, Mustang put a paternal arm around his shoulders. "Are you alright?" he asked.</p><p>Ed wanted to tell him no. He wanted, more than anything, for Mustang to take him out of there, away from the staring eyes with their horrible implications and the memories lurking in the peripherals of his mind. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to face his friends, and he certainly wasn't ready to face his nightmares.</p><p>He nodded and fought for his next breath.</p><p>"Okay, Chief, here's how it'll work," Havoc's voice explained gently. "All I need you to do is start from the beginning. The First Lieutenant and I will just ask you questions as you go to fill in the blanks. Think you can handle that?"</p><p>Ed's hand tightened around Mustang's sleeve. "Yeah, sure." His voice shook.</p><p>"Okay," Hawkeye said, her own voice soft and strong at the same time. "Tell us what happened the day you got to North City."</p><p>Ed swallowed thickly, his heart racing.</p><p>No, the first part was easy. He could tell them the first part.</p><p>"I met Corporal Landon at the station. He took me out to the warehouses, where I was left to my investigation. At approximately seventeen-hundred hours, I was ambushed."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed gritted his teeth and clutched his bleeding leg, trying hard to staunch both the crimson flow from his upper thigh and his pained gasps.</p><p>Out in the warehouse behind him, he could hear his pursuers searching for him. He had taken refuge between a stack of crates and the wall, worming himself between them and out of sight. He knew good and well he couldn't stay hidden forever, and it was only a matter of time before they stumbled across him, but he just really needed a minute to catch his breath.</p><p>Just a routine smash and grab, Mustang had said. Piece of cake, he had said.</p><p>Well, Ed was going to smash something when he got back, that was for sure.</p><p>He had been out inspecting the warehouses all day long, examining the crime scenes, looking for hints as to where someone could have broken in, possible escape routes, and any other relevant evidence he could find. He had braved the cold, his automail aching enough to make him wish for the hot deserts of Liore, and after wading through feet of snow and with the sky darkening into a shadowy gray, Ed was just about to call it a day and return to the outpost when he was ambushed.</p><p>Ambushed by a pack of thugs with automatics. <em>Automatics</em>.</p><p>As a member of the military, Ed had seen automatics, but he had never had the pleasure of running from them until today.</p><p>And run he did. Because stopping to throw together a transmutation was simply out of the question. The only time he stopped was when a round went straight through his thigh, and by then he didn't have a much of a choice.</p><p>He had ducked and rolled into an open warehouse door, then half stumbled, half dragged himself to the nearest cover he could find, and now he was trying to staunch the bleeding and consider his options.</p><p>As best he could tell, there were at least five of them. Five of them, and only one of him. The commander at the outpost knew where he was, but Ed wasn't due back for another hour, and they wouldn't start looking until hours after that. In other words, he was on his own.</p><p>In other words, he was so screwed.</p><p>He tried to take deep, controlled breaths as spots danced before his eyes. Adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins, and it didn't hurt all that much yet, but that didn't mean blood loss wasn't starting to making things a bit fuzzy around the edges. He shivered, teeth chattering as shock started to settle in.</p><p>Okay, his options were fight, hide, or run. Running was off the table, considering he now had all the speed and prowess of a paraplegic gazelle.</p><p>He could stay and make a fight of it, but with all the blood slowly pooling around his legs and his head spinning the way it was, he doubted he'd last very long.</p><p>So, his best bet was to find a better place to hide. Any sort of transmutation would draw them on him like moths to flame, but maybe if he gave them something more pressing to deal with . . .</p><p>With no small amount of effort, Ed dragged himself down the wall and carefully peered around the corner of a crate.</p><p>And right into the gaze of a Drachman soldier.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>It was almost easy to tell them, if he didn't think about it. Just like Teacher taught him about holding two separate thoughts in his head at the same time. He could explain what happened, and think about home at the same time.</p><p>"They caught me, put a bag over my head, and took me to the shack. When we got there, they treated my injury, but when I tried to get away, they figured out how my alchemy worked and yanked my arm out. Then they dumped me in the basement."</p><p>"Can you describe the men that took you?" Hawkeye asked.</p><p>The interruption stopped Ed's story like missing tracks stopped a train. Description?</p><p>He remembered the ones that hurt him.</p><p>He remembered hurting.</p><p>He could feel his pulse hammering in his ribcage, hear them moving, looking for something else to torture him with. The tools scraped across the table. His toenails had just started to grow back in . . . would they take them again? He tried to curl in on himself, to protect himself in any way possible.</p><p>"Ed," Mustang said, voice solid and close. He felt the man next to him, his hand tightening on his shoulder. "Focus, Ed. What did they look like?"</p><p>He could tell them that. That was easy. They were the last thing he saw . . .</p><p>
  <em>No, don't think about that. Think about home.</em>
</p><p>He rattled off what he remembered of their faces. "That's all I remember."</p><p>"Then . . . the basement?" Havoc asked.</p><p>Ed couldn't quite suppress the shiver that wracked his spine. "The basement."</p><p>He thought about his mother.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Everything <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>Even his hair hurt, and he couldn't help but marvel at the novelty of it.</p><p>The door at the top of the stairs slammed closed, and even though his captors were gone, Ed wasn't quite ready to move yet.</p><p>It hadn't been very long since they had taken his arm, then stripped him of his clothes before they dumped him down in the basement, an iron collar around his neck and a chain connecting him to the wall like a dog.</p><p>In fact, the leader's exact words had been, <em>"Chain him up like the dog he is."</em> Ed hadn't exactly handled the experience well, and now a few of them were sporting his teeth marks in their forearms.</p><p>Of course, he was probably nursing a fractured jaw and some seriously bruised ribs, but in his mind, it had been totally worth it.</p><p>The basement was cold, and without any clothes or so much as a sheet, he could feel it seeping into his bones. The wound in his leg ached something terrible, but if the cold was good for anything, it helped to numb the sting of it. He still felt lightheaded from losing so much blood, and having his arm ripped off certainly hadn't helped. The Drachmans had sterilized his wound and stopped the bleeding, but for the life of him, Ed couldn't understand why. Obviously they needed him alive for something and figured septic shock would hamper their plans, but what could they possibly want from him?</p><p>All he could see in the dimness around him were the stone walls, a couple of wooden support beams and the stone steps ahead of him that lead up to the house. The floor had plenty of bloodstains on it, letting him know what he was probably in for, and reinforcing his drive to escape.</p><p>And as if he needed any more encouragement, he felt a heavy stare on his back.</p><p>He slowly picked up his head and turned to stare into a pair of silver eyes.</p><p>Ed immediately threw himself back against the wall and struggled to his feet. <em>"Get back!"</em> he snarled, kicking out at the gray wolf that had appeared just out of his reach. He almost overbalanced and clung to the wall behind him to keep from tipping over, his leg throbbing and his head spinning.</p><p>The creature watched him impassively, not at all fazed by his kicking and shouting. He noticed her pale gray pelt was thin, stretched taught over a gaunt rib cage, with sunken eyes and a hungry look that Ed decided was probably something permanent.</p><p>Maybe it was some kind of pet? "What do you want?" Ed demanded, not quite ready to trust something that so closely resembled a starving wild animal.</p><p>The wolf just continued to stare, as if Ed hadn't moved at all. It was unnerving, and Ed felt his heartbeat quicken a pace or two. "Well? You just going to sit there and stare?" he demanded irritably. It had not been his kind of day. This stupid mutt harassing him was the last thing he needed.</p><p>Then, like wraiths from the shadow, two more wolves appeared from underneath the staircase.</p><p>The first one to approach was clearly in charge. It was the biggest female, a dark gray with yellow eyes. The other female slinking close behind her had a coat the same color as ink, a crooked jaw, and dark amber eyes. Neither one of them was as thin as the first, but to say they looked to be starving would have been an understatement.</p><p>The biggest one shouldered her way past the tiny one, planted herself firmly between them and stared.</p><p>The black one eased to the big one's side and stopped to stare, too.</p><p>The skinny one just kept on staring.</p><p>Ed felt the hairs on his neck begin to stand on end. What kind of a sick place was this? Chaining him up like an animal in a room full of ravenous wolves?! "Don't get any ideas, flea bags," Ed warned, his voice trembling just the slightest. He had read books on animals like this before. You were supposed to make yourself look as big and intimidating as possible, but stripped of his arm and clothes and with a hole in his leg, he probably resembled dinner more than some sort of threat.</p><p>Nevertheless, he straightened as much as he could and forced his hand to let go of his aching leg. "Buzz off!" he shouted, taking a stumbling step forward.</p><p>That set them off. The big one's ears perked forward and its lips pulled back as it released a warning growl. The other two soon joined in, filling the small basement with their low rumbling.</p><p>Ed really wished he had his arm.</p><p>The big one charged forward with a snarl, spreading her jaws and aiming for Ed's thigh.</p><p>Leaning against the wall for balance, Ed kicked out his automail foot, connecting solidly with the animal's shoulder and sending it sprawling with a pained yelp. It quickly got out of his reach, then slinked off back under the staircase, the other two following close behind.</p><p>Shaking with spent adrenaline, Ed collapsed against the wall, heart racing and mind reeling.</p><p>XxXxXxX</p><p>"Okay, Ed," Hawkeye said gently. "Then what happened?"</p><p>Ed felt himself shaking all over. He tried to hold a picture of his mother in his mind's eye, but the sound of other's breathing reminded him too much of those animals . . . he could feel the stares on him, and they made him want to curl up and disappear.</p><p>He tightened his blanket around his shoulders and moved even closer to Mustang. Any nearer and he'd be in the man's lap, but Ed didn't have the ability to be self-conscious right then. He would be far more embarrassed about losing his mind than about losing face.</p><p>He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.</p><p>He inhaled deeply, calming his mind. He struggled for his other thought, something to keep his mind occupied while he spoke.</p><p>Ed thought of Winry.</p><p>"They took me up out of the basement a couple of days later. They asked me a lot of questions. Most of them were about North Command and Fort Briggs. About security and procedures . . . a lot of stuff I didn't know. They also kept asking me about some mission. Operation Firefight."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>A heavy boot to his stomach had him dry heaving over the side of the chair. It had been three days since he'd eaten—three days trapped in that rat hole—and his stomach had nothing to throw up.</p><p>Really, three days was only his best estimate. There were no windows in the basement, and at first he had counted the hours by how hungry he was. And then he was starving, so he decided to count by how many times he slept. And then he was attacked by one of those dogs, so he didn't sleep.</p><p>So really, it could have been three days or a week, he wasn't sure.</p><p>They had finally dragged him out of there, only to strap him to a wooden chair with leather belts and ask him stupid questions that he wouldn't have answered if he could.</p><p>He finally regained himself and sat up as best he could, wiping his mouth across his shoulder and giving the one that had kicked him his best glare. "You hit like a girl."</p><p>Instead of getting mad, the big man grinned wolfishly. He wasn't nearly as big as Armstrong, but he had enough muscle to deal some damage, and a crooked nose to suggest he had sustained some himself. His eyes were the color of frozen lakes and held just about as much warmth. "You whimper like one," he sneered in his thick accent.</p><p>"I don't think you'll find us so easy to bait," the Interrogator said from his seat at the table near Ed's side. As far as Ed could tell, this man was the leader. He had a broad face, pocked by weather and time underneath a thick black beard. His eyes were small and vaguely reminded Ed of a weasel's, shining with a sociopathic sort of cruelty. Of the five Drachmans he'd met, this one probably had the thinnest accent. It was almost difficult to believe he wasn't Amestrian. "We're not asking difficult questions here, boy."</p><p>"And I'm not giving difficult answers, idiot," Ed snapped back. "I already told you my rank. That's all you get."</p><p>With a thin smile, the Interrogator made a gesture to Muscles, and Muscles proceeded to drive his fist into Ed's gut. Again.</p><p>Ed was pretty sure something cracked that time. A new, sharper pain blossomed from his lower chest and his stomach heaved again. His vision darkened just a bit around the edges and blood sang in his ears as his body tried to remember how to breathe.</p><p>"You see, boy, we can do things the easy way, or the hard way," the Interrogator said, glibly adjusting a tool of some sort on the table in front of him. "As entertaining as the hard way is, I'm afraid my time is not unlimited. If we don't get this over with soon, I'll have to bring in my second-hand, and though his methods are a bit . . . unconventional, you can't argue with his results."</p><p>Ed had never been tortured before, but he had read about interrogation tactics. It was in one of those informational pamphlets Mustang had shoved at him and demanded he read before he joined the military. He knew that once they got their information, the interrogation would be over, for more reasons than one.</p><p>He had to buy his time until he either figured out a way to escape, or he was rescued, because anything short of that would be his death sentence.</p><p>"Let's try something else, then," the Interrogator suggested, getting to his feet in one graceful motion. He rounded the table slowly, like a tiger rounds its prey, eyes glancing over a colorful assortment of tools that made Ed's stomach twist. He didn't know what all of them did, but he had the uncomfortable feeling he was going to find out soon enough. "I am very interested in a particular mission," he said, picking up a small knife and weighing it in his hands. "<em>Operation Firefight</em>. What is it?"</p><p>Ed was having a hard time tearing his eyes away from the glinting steel to meet the man's predatory gaze. If he told the man he didn't know, then he might be deemed useless and disposed of. He had to at least pretend he had information worth keeping him alive for.</p><p>He forcibly tore his gaze from the knife and gave the Interrogator an unimpressed look only tinged by his discomfort. Then he politely suggested that the Interrogator do something physically impossible to himself.</p><p>Another smile stretched the Interrogator's lips. He stepped closer, sliding the small knife neatly under his jaw to rest against his neck, the cold steel making goose bumps break out across Ed's bare flesh and his breathing halt. Ed pressed himself against the chair, but it did nothing to relieve the pressure.</p><p>"If I didn't need you to talk, I would cut out that tongue of yours," the man purred, slowly dragging the knife across Ed's throat. He felt the blade's kiss, sharp and hot against his skin, leaving a wet trail of warm blood behind. Ed gasped, his bound hand clenching the chair's arm, but he had nowhere else to retreat, and any sudden move might drive the knife deep enough to kill him, so he remained as still as he could while his hand shook.</p><p>"Maybe I should anyway," the man said thoughtfully. He brought the knife up his jaw, stopping to scrape it over Ed's stony lips.</p><p>Ed managed a ragged breath as he fought back a sickening wave of terror. He had to stay calm! This guy wanted him to lose his cool. He was bluffing, he had to be.</p><p>After what seemed like an eternity, the man's smile faded and he pulled away, taking the knife with him. "It's too bad I need information. You would be much more entertaining whimpering tongue-less, but I guess I'll just have to settle for good old-fashioned screaming."</p><p>Then he drove the knife into Ed's side.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>
  <em>"Edward!"</em>
</p><p>Ed flinched violently, scrambling away from the voice, but a firm grip stopped him. His side was on fire and he was bleeding everywhere. His hands were slick with the fluid and he couldn't get away.</p><p>He flailed, trying everything in his power to get away, but the straps were too tight. Panicked whimpers shook from his lips, but he didn't have the sense of self to be ashamed of it.</p><p>Voices rang all around him, but he couldn't make out anything they were saying. He just wanted to get away, <em>anything to get away.</em></p><p>
  <em>"Fullmetal."</em>
</p><p>Ed froze.</p><p>"M . . . Mustang?"</p><p>"That's right," Mustang promised, voice low and near. "I've got you, you can let go now."</p><p>Ed only then realized his hands were wrapped around something. He released them hurriedly, and a masculine voice grunted in pain as he did. "Havoc?" Ed dared to ask.</p><p>"It's okay, Chief," Havoc said lightly, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him. Ed had hurt him somehow. "Just my wrists. That automail's got quite the grip, doesn't it?"</p><p>Ed felt his body begin to shake anew. He had lost it . . . he'd hurt Havoc, and maybe someone else in the process. Bile rose in his throat, and even without sight, it felt like the room was spinning around him. His heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer and he couldn't breathe.</p><p>He felt Mustang's grip on his shoulder tighten, but instead of recoiling from it, Ed pressed closer, burying his face into the man's shoulder. It felt safer there. "Get me out of here," he gasped. "Please get me out of here."</p><p>"Okay, okay we're going," Mustang promised, moving. Ed tried to get to his feet, but his flesh leg wouldn't support him and he fell into the older man's side. Mustang held him up with one hand and wrapped the blanket tighter around him with the other before scooping him up in his strong arms. Ed was careful to hide his face from their stares the whole time until Mustang left the room.</p><p>"You did well, Ed," Mustang said softly above him as they moved down the hall, his steps thumping on the carpet at a fast clip.</p><p>Away from the oppressive stares and unrealistic expectations, Ed felt his chest loosen just a bit—just enough to breathe a little easier. He wrapped his hands in Mustang's shirt. "I . . . I hurt Havoc."</p><p>"He'll be fine. He just got in the way when he shouldn't have."</p><p>"Doesn't make it okay, Mustang."</p><p>Mustang changed direction and the air changed around them and Ed knew they were in his room. "Maybe not," Mustang agreed, "but it makes it understandable."</p><p>That didn't satisfy Ed, but he didn't say anything about it as Mustang set him on the bed. As soon as he was released, he curled in on himself, shivering with the sudden loss of the colonel's warmth. "Did I . . . did you get what you needed?"</p><p>He felt the bed dip beside his head as the older man sat down. The silence was answer enough, but Mustang finally spoke. "We were with you until you told us about . . . about the first time they hurt you," he said, voice brittle. "Then you started repeating 'stop' over and over again and we had a hard time getting you to snap out of it."</p><p>Ed felt dread coiling in his gut like a live snake, the thought alone enough to sicken him. "So we'll have to do it again."</p><p>"No, Ed, you don't have to," Mustang said firmly. "You don't have to, we'll find some other way."</p><p>Ed wanted to throw up, and probably the only thing that saved him from it was skipping lunch and dinner. "We'll finish it tomorrow."</p><p>"Ed—"</p><p>"Tomorrow." His voice trembled, and his hands shook enough to make the automail rattle. He wrapped them to his chest and cleared his throat. "Tomorrow."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was well over an hour before Roy felt comfortable enough to leave Ed alone, even for just a while. He had fallen into an exhausted sleep, and Roy figured he had some time before the nightmares started.</p><p>Once outside the room, he took a moment to compose himself. He leaned back against the wall, feeling weary and exhausted, his chest heavy with a numb sort of horror that wouldn't resolve into anything more tangible until the shock wore off. He felt detached somehow, like he was viewing everything from some distant location, uninvolved and disconnected.</p><p>He should be mad. He should be shaking with fury, or crying his eyes out. Something.</p><p>But emotions were dimmed now, and all he could think was that this shouldn't be happening. There was no reason for Ed to have gone through that. None at all.</p><p>His dazed mind couldn't understand, couldn't fathom. He needed time to process it all, to possibly find a way that it wasn't as bad as it sounded.</p><p>Really, it was a wonder there was anything left of Ed's mind at all.</p><p>He reached a cold hand to wipe some of the sweat from his brow and breathed deep before pushing off the wall and heading downstairs, away from the oppressive corner of his home that had become the focal point of Roy's recent nightmares.</p><p>Things weren't any better in the living room.</p><p>The room itself felt void, like all of the life was gone from it. It was the same feeling Roy associated with funeral homes—empty and tense. Hawkeye sat on the couch, staring blankly at the notes in her hands. Her eyes were glassy, but Roy knew there was no way on earth she would let the tears fall. Havoc stood by the cold fireplace, viciously chewing his cigarette to ribbons, one hand holding a bag of ice around the opposite wrist. His eyes looked haunted and vacant, reminding Roy eerily of the way Ed's now looked so much of the time. Even Silas seemed shaken by what he'd just heard, and for once he was sitting absolutely still, his gaze somewhere far off.</p><p>Three pairs of eyes slowly rose to meet his. They exchanged a silent, mutual look of dismay and desperation, like they were waiting for someone to tell them they'd heard wrong, that it was all some awful joke.</p><p>Finally, Havoc dared to break the silence. "How is he?"</p><p>Roy crossed the room slowly, his feet seeming to drag the floor. "As well as expected," he said, lowering himself into the seat beside Hawkeye. "He's asleep now."</p><p>"What happened?" Havoc asked. "There at the end? He just started repeating 'stop' over and over again."</p><p>"Flashback," Roy responded.</p><p>Something pained flashed through the blond's eyes, then he turned back to the fireplace. "It's not right."</p><p>Roy bit back a heated retort. Of course it wasn't right. Nothing about this accursed situation was right, but Havoc had never seen the atrocities that Hawkeye and Roy had, so Roy supposed it made sense for Havoc to be so shaken by it.</p><p>Then again, who was he fooling? Roy was positively rattled. He was just better at hiding it, even from himself.</p><p>"He wants to finish tomorrow," Roy informed.</p><p>Wide eyes met his, questioning and incredulous.</p><p>"If he can," he added.</p><p>"You can't be serious," Havoc hissed. "After <em>that?"</em></p><p>"It's his decision," Hawkeye spoke up, her voice steady and calm, a direct contrast to her eyes. Roy stifled the urge to reach out to her. He'd known her since their childhood. He knew her pain when he saw it. "If he thinks he can, then we'll try it."</p><p>With an obvious force of will, Havoc swallowed his opinion and turned away.</p><p>"Jim? Can you be here?" Roy asked.</p><p>The doctor looked up quickly, as if surprised to be addressed. "Oh, yes! Of course," he offered with a thin smile that wasn't any less warm for its hesitancy. "I'll be here."</p><p>Roy nodded. "Good. Same time, then."</p><p>Silence stole over the room again, cold and stiff.</p><p>"Come on, Silas," Havoc said, voice strained as he grabbed a couple of messenger bags from the floor. "I'll drive you home."</p><p>Silas got to his feet, taking his medical bag with him. "Ah, thank you," he said with a subdued smile. "Well, Roy, Riza. Goodnight."</p><p>Roy saw them out, and then he was alone with Riza.</p><p>She studied him from the couch with an unreadable expression, her sherry eyes scrutinizing and distant at the same time.</p><p>"What?" Roy asked tiredly, half wishing she would just go. He didn't have the will to have another argument. He felt exhausted in a way he hadn't known since the war, as emotionally drained as he was physically.</p><p>"After this is over, you're taking a day off."</p><p>He blinked at her. "What—"</p><p>"I don't care who you get to help with Edward, whoever you think would handle him the best. You're getting out of this house."</p><p>A smirk pulled at his lips. It was a nice sentiment, but highly unrealistic, especially in light of everything that was happening. He'd be lucky if he slept again for the rest of the week, be it because of Edward's nightmares, or his own. "We'll see."</p><p>She seemed wholly unsatisfied with that answer, but didn't press it further. But then that disappointment in her gaze from the other night returned and Roy had to look away, her words echoing in his mind.</p><p>
  <em>This is eating away at you, and it's not going to stop until you forgive yourself.</em>
</p><p>She rose to her feet, grabbed her bag, and joined him by the door. "Get some sleep, sir."</p><p>He tried to give her a playful smirk, but it felt hollow on his lips. "Stop bossing me around, Lieutenant."</p><p>The corners of her mouth twitched just a bit, and he couldn't help but feel just a bit better for it. "Goodnight, Colonel."</p><p>"Goodnight, Riza."</p><p>She left and Roy went back upstairs, pondering just how difficult smiles had become lately.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>A terrified gasp woke Ed up.</p><p>It took him a long moment to realize that for once, it was not his own.</p><p>His mind immediately started racing as he pulled his legs tighter to himself. Who was that? That wasn't an animal's sound, so it couldn't have been the wolves. No one else should have been down here. Another prisoner? Or someone sent to hurt him?</p><p>The gasp faded into rough, uneven panting, and only then did Edward realize he was actually <em>leaning</em> against whoever it was.</p><p>He launched himself up, but strong arms wrapped around his waist and stopped him as easily as a child stops a puppy on a leash. He bucked and twisted, but his body was frail and his shoulder tugged painfully and he couldn't shake the solid grip his attacker had on him. "It's okay, Ed, it's okay!" a low voice said, sounding weak and thready, but definitely familiar.</p><p>Ed stopped. The mindless panic slowly subsided into empty adrenaline and a pounding heart and he forced his body to relax, his back once again resting against his former superior officer. Not the basement. This wasn't the basement, he was safe.</p><p>Mustang's grip finally loosened and they both sat a moment and breathed.</p><p>And he couldn't help but wonder if it was just his over-active imagination, or if Mustang's breathing sounded just as ragged and terrified as his.</p><p>Finally Edward managed to get himself under control, forcing himself to take long, measured breaths that put oxygen in his lungs and calmed his racing heart.</p><p>He could still feel Mustang's heart hammering against his back.</p><p>"Mustang?"</p><p>Silence.</p><p>"Yes?" he finally responded, the reply choked and as tense as his body. Ed could smell sweat, acrid and heavy with fear. Before he had lost his sight, he didn't know there was such a difference, but he had become well acquainted with fear. He knew what it smelled like.</p><p>"What's wrong?"</p><p>Mustang breathed for a moment more, the breaths becoming deeper and less erratic and the tension slowly giving way to forced relaxation. His heart was still pumping at a heavy staccato, but now it wasn't about to pound a dent in the back of Ed's shoulder.</p><p>"It's fine," he said. "It's fine, go back to sleep."</p><p>The answer didn't satisfy Ed, but he had a suspicion that he knew exactly what the problem was. "Nightmares?"</p><p>Mustang stilled. "Yeah, something like that."</p><p>He didn't know Mustang was even capable of having nightmares. The man always seemed so strong . . . even after that breakdown the other day, Ed couldn't help but remember the tall man with the dark hair, black eyes, and a smirk sharp enough to cut his own confidence to ribbons.</p><p>But he remembered fighting him on the parade grounds not so long ago, when the colonel was moments away from snapping his fingers and finishing the fight, eyes bright with flame and lips pulled in a triumphant smile as he raised his hand.</p><p>Then he saw terror like he'd never seen in those onyx eyes, such a direct contrast to all that Mustang was, and he saw the man <em>remember</em>.</p><p>It was the first time Edward had considered that Mustang might actually be human.</p><p>"Want to talk about it?" Ed asked.</p><p>He huffed a tired, condescending sort of laugh. "It's a silly dream, Ed. I'll be alright."</p><p>Ed pulled his blanket tighter around himself. "Just because it's a silly dream doesn't make it feel any less real."</p><p>Mustang seemed to reconsider what he had just said. "I guess you're right."</p><p>No one said anything for a while, and Ed decided that maybe he should try to go back to sleep while his mind was distracted by someone else's problems, for once.</p><p>Ed leaned his head back against the older man's side, the way he usually slept these days. After waking from nightmares, the only way he could possibly hope to get back to sleep was by having a reassuring presence there against him, standing guard over him. If someone had told him just a few months ago that he would one day cling to Colonel Roy Mustang like a child to a father, Ed would have told them to go jump off a cliff, and even have helped them over the edge.</p><p>Now, with his little brother so far away, Mustang was as vital to his peace of mind as solid ground under his feet, or the blanket over his shoulders. In just a few short days, Ed had become irretrievably, completely reliant on the older man.</p><p>He didn't want to consider how much that really frightened him.</p><p>"Sometimes I dream about Ishval."</p><p>The sudden confession broke Ed's train of thought. Mustang never talked about Ishval. He had heard snippets here and there about how awful it had been, about how State Alchemists came back with their minds in tatters and souls crushed, and he had even heard from Hughes once that Mustang had had it worse than most. Ed couldn't help but wonder why now, after all these years, Mustang still had nightmares.</p><p>And he couldn't help but wonder if that meant he was condemned to his for the rest of his life, too.</p><p>Ed silenced his curiosity and waited. He knew how hard it was to just <em>talk</em>, even without interruptions.</p><p>Mustang shifted, but whether it was from physical discomfort or mental, Ed didn't know. "Sometimes I . . . I'm back there. They give me orders, and no matter how much I fight it, no matter how I restrain myself, I snap anyway. Just a snap of my fingers and they're all destroyed. Men, women, children, people I know and love . . . everything burns. Sand, fire and blood, that's all that cursed place is," his voice caught and he stopped. When he spoke again, Ed wasn't sure if it was even directed at him anymore. "So much blood."</p><p>Ed couldn't quite suppress the shiver that trailed down his spine.</p><p>Mustang's head shifted, like he was snapped out of his memories and now looking at Ed. "Sorry. It was . . . well, that stuff has a way of sticking with you."</p><p>Ed nodded. He understood. He'd seen his fair share of horrors himself.</p><p>Ed curled closer to Mustang's side, though he wasn't even entirely sure if it was for Mustang's comfort or his own. "Mine are mostly about that basement," he admitted softly. Mustang stilled beside him, and Ed knew he had the man's full attention. "Sometimes about . . . when they hurt me." He couldn't stop his flesh hand from creeping up to hold his throat. "That stuff sticks with you, too."</p><p>The older man breathed a bit tighter, then his arm moved, hand coming to rest on Ed's head and ruffling his hair gently. Ed couldn't help but flinch at the paternal touch, his body immediately expecting pain, but remembered himself and forced his body to relax. If Mustang noticed his reaction, though, he didn't let on. "Guess you're right."</p><p>Ed was afraid of the answer, but the question suddenly burned in his mind and he had to ask. "Does it . . . does it ever get any better?"</p><p>The hand stopped, resting heavy on his head.</p><p>"It gets bearable," he said finally. "Sometimes you even manage to forget for a while."</p><p>Ed would give his last arm and leg to forget. But how could you possibly forget something that just opening your eyes reminded you of?</p><p>He closed his useless eyes. "Does anything ever help?"</p><p>Mustang seemed to think a moment. "When I got back from Ishval, Hughes stayed with me for a few months. I think that helps with nightmares more than anything—just knowing you're not going to wake up alone."</p><p>It wasn't what Ed was hoping for. It wasn't a cure-all, something that would stop the horrid flashbacks or the panic attacks and make things the way they used to be. It wasn't going to make the debriefing easier, or make all of that sickening fear go away, but he supposed that for now, it was enough.</p><p>"Thanks, Mustang. For . . . you know."</p><p>He could hear the smile. "Don't mention it. Get some sleep, kid."</p><p>It was enough to not be alone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy cradled his head in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He was hoping the caffeine would calm the splitting headache into something more manageable, but he was already two cups in, and it wasn't letting up. His mouth felt dry and everything was just sort of fuzzy around the edges, things not quite making as much sense as they should.</p><p>And now it seemed he was going through one of those "phases" in which he would be treated to his own personal horror show inside his head every night.</p><p>It always started with Ishval, like Roy had told Ed. He would be ordered to execute prisoners, one or two at a time, and he would be completely unable to resist. It always started with the Rockbells. Sometimes there would be an Ishvalan or two, a child or old woman, then someone he cared for. He had executed them all: Riza, Hughes, Elysia, Gracia, Havoc, Feury, Breda, Falman, Armstrong . . . all of them and more.</p><p>Last night, in his dreams, he had executed Edward.</p><p>He shuddered.</p><p>It had been Edward as he was now. He was blind and scared and asking Mustang what was wrong. Trusting that Roy would answer, would protect him, would be there.</p><p>Trusting Roy.</p><p>What poor judgment.</p><p>And sobbing and unable to stop himself, Roy had snapped his fingers and set the child on fire.</p><p>It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint not to run to the bathroom and throw his insides up when Ed had woken him up.</p><p>"Mustang?" Ed asked from across the table. He had his feet propped up on the chair again, his breakfast untouched before him. "What's wrong?"</p><p>Roy shivered again, remnants of his nightmares dancing behind his eyes.</p><p>He could not do this. He simply couldn't do this right now. Ed was scheduled to have his debriefing again that evening, and he hadn't showered since that first incident. There were things to take care of, medications to administer, and research to attempt. He had too much to do to have a breakdown.</p><p>Riza's words rang again in his mind.</p><p>
  <em>This is eating away at you, and it's not going to stop until you forgive yourself.</em>
</p><p>The phone rang, making his headache sharpen, but providing an excellent distraction from Ed's question and his own destructive train of thought.</p><p>He crossed the kitchen and picked it up, thankfully silencing the shrill ring. "Mustang."</p><p><em>"Roy!"</em> the voice greeted, much too loud for his liking. <em>"Jim here!"</em></p><p>He winced. "Jim. What can I do for you?"</p><p>
  <em>"This is just a courtesy call to let you know that I've taken the liberty of ordering you a piano."</em>
</p><p>Roy took a long, slow moment to process that.</p><p>His head must have been fuzzier than he thought.</p><p>"It's funny, Doctor," he said slowly, "but I could have sworn that you just said you've ordered me a piano."</p><p>Ed sent a curious look his way.</p><p><em>"Well, not you, specifically. It's for Edward!"</em> Silas said, sounding pleased. <em>"I figured it would do him some good. After all, the best way to heal the soul is through music, yes?"</em></p><p>"I'm sorry, you<em> ordered a piano?"</em></p><p>
  <em>"Didn't I mention that? Anyway, it's a fine instrument, and it should be arriving this afternoon around two. I think you'll be quite pleased . . .Oh, and the therapist that makes house calls? Yes, Doctor Asher, she'll be arriving on Monday! A fine young lady, I think Edward will make some excellent progress. Not only an adept psychologist, but her physical and emotional therapy are top notch. She's made some astounding breaches in the sciences!" </em>
</p><p>"You ordered a piano."</p><p>Silas hesitated. <em>"Perhaps I should speak to Edward?" </em>he suggested, sounding a bit concerned. <em>"You seem to be having some trouble comprehending."</em></p><p>"Yes, because who goes around ordering pianos for other people?" he demanded. "Where am I supposed to put a piano, Silas?"</p><p><em>"I'll let you work out all of the details,"</em> he said dismissively. <em>"Oh, there's my next appointment! I'll see you both this evening! Goodbye!"</em></p><p>The phone clicked.</p><p>Roy stared at it for a moment before hanging up.</p><p>"Mustang?"</p><p>Roy glanced up to see the boy sitting up just a bit straighter than before, his feet planted on the ground. "He ordered a piano," Roy said by way of explanation.</p><p>Ed didn't look surprised. "Go figure."</p><p>"Where am I supposed to put a piano, Fullmetal?" he asked, somewhat helplessly.</p><p>Ed frowned. Clearly this wasn't a question he'd thought he'd ever have to deal with. Frankly, Roy never thought he'd have to deal with it, either. "You're the one with the eyes, Mustang," he said, sounding just a bit out of his element. "You figure it out."</p><p>Roy massaged his throbbing temple with one hand and wondered how, exactly, this had happened.</p><p>"Mustang, are you okay?" Ed asked, sounding concerned. "You sound kind of . . . off."</p><p>"Silas ordered a piano," he said. "Who does that? Now I have to rearrange my entire living room."</p><p>Ed looked unsettled by that. "Can we . . . can we not rearrange it too much?"</p><p>Roy paused in his mental tirade to consider the boy. He pulled his blanket around him tighter, his prosthetic gripping the chair he sat in nervously. He was reacting to Roy's discomfort and negative thoughts, and no doubt the thought of furniture being rearranged. Ed could almost navigate the house without running into anything, unless Roy forgot to clean up his notes, or push in the chairs around the dinner table. For someone that depended on memory to get from one place to another, the thought of changes undoubtedly seemed disturbing.</p><p>With a long sigh, Roy decided that he was overreacting. So he would have to move some furniture and pay a few hundred cenz, it was worth it if it helped Ed at all. Even if Silas <em>did</em> just buy them a piano. "You know, I think we'll only have to move my armchair. We'll put it beside the loveseat, then put the piano in the corner."</p><p>Ed seemed like he was going over that in his head. "Okay. When did he say it was coming?"</p><p>"Maybe two."</p><p>He nodded, then went back to pushing his eggs around his plate with a spoon.</p><p>Roy went to the cabinet and found the ibuprofen. He popped a couple into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He needed his body at top notch today if they were going to get through it.</p><p>"Headache?" Ed asked.</p><p>It was strange, but Roy thought he might be even more perceptive blind than he ever had with both eyes.</p><p>Roy put the rattling bottle back up in the cabinet. "Silas ordered me a piano. I think it was a headache well-earned."</p><p>A faint, almost-smile pulled at Ed's lips before it disappeared.</p><p>Roy's headache eased just for a moment before the shadows crept back in.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed could hear Mustang scribbling away at something and hear his steady breathing as he worked from the other couch. Papers occasionally rustled and a pen clacked against the coffee table, but he barely noticed.</p><p>Coming from the corner of the room was a strange sort of sensation. It was like when someone walks in the room and freezes: you know they're there, even if they aren't moving and you haven't turned around to acknowledge them.</p><p>Ed could sense the piano there, taking up space, it's presence like some sort of alien life form. If he listened hard enough, he could swear that he heard the strings vibrating in the small draft, ringing a constant, clear tone.</p><p>It had taken them forever to get it in and set it up. He had listened for over an hour while strange men moved and tuned it while he had remained hidden safely in the bathtub upstairs.</p><p>When Mustang finally sent them away and brought him to the stairs, he could smell wood and ivory and the scent of other human beings, which was off-putting in itself, but then there was the actual change in the room. He had sensed its presence immediately, noting that the room seemed balanced differently. The change made him anxious for reasons he couldn't adequately describe, so he had retreated back upstairs, only coming down when Mustang assured him it was alright and agreed to not take him anywhere near it.</p><p>But it continued to grate on his senses, and now he was absorbed in it. The ringing was somehow soothing, captivating. Never since the basement had he been so focused on one thing. It fascinated him even as it frightened him. It was almost enough distraction to make him forget what he had to do later that day.</p><p>"You can go touch it, you know," Mustang suggested wryly, another paper flipping. "It's not going to bite you."</p><p>Ed felt his cheeks heat up. He wasn't afraid of a piano. That was stupid.</p><p>Except he sort of was.</p><p>"I know that," he said defensively. "It's just . . . it's different."</p><p>"Different isn't always bad."</p><p>Actually, it usually was, but Ed didn't say anything. His mind had drifted back to that entrancing ringing sound. He wondered what it would sound like if it were louder, if the tones varied, if someone were capable of organizing those sounds into <em>music</em>.</p><p>Mustang sighed, drawing him out of his trance once again. "Come on, Ed," he said, fabric and papers shifting as he got to his feet. "Your curiosity is about to kill you." Ed thought he detected a smile in the older man's voice.</p><p>Ed frowned. "It's ringing," he stated, as if that were some sort of defense.</p><p>"I don't hear anything. Come on," he said, approaching and gripping his metal elbow to leverage him off the couch.</p><p>Ed didn't fight getting to his feet. His curiosity really was starting to eat away at his fear, but for some stupid reason, he really didn't want to go near it alone. Perhaps he feared tripping over the foreign object, or maybe he was just afraid of change in general, but either way, he wanted to watch it cautiously with his own eyes, and having someone else watching it was the next best thing.</p><p>Mustang led him a few steps until he knew it was standing before them, thrumming with untapped power. The colonel picked up Ed's flesh hand and set it down on something smooth and cold.</p><p>He couldn't quite contain a gasp at the strange sensation. It was as cold as tile. He recalled what his mother's piano had looked like; it had been a small upright one of blonde wood, with sets of delicate ivory and black keys spaced evenly across. The scarred bronze pedals had gleamed dully near the floor and he recalled many occasions where he or Alphonse had sat on the bench and banged on the keys, drawing out horrid, tuneless explosions of sound while their mother looked on and laughed at their antics. He wondered if this one looked the same, or if maybe it was one of those long, glossy black ones his mother had always dreamed of owning.</p><p>When he had told Silas that none of them had been able to play it, he hadn't necessarily been truthful. His mother had played. Granted, she had played terribly, but it had made her laugh, and anything that made her laugh was worth holding on to.</p><p>Softly, hesitantly, Ed placed a pointer finger against the polished surface and pushed down on a single key.</p><p>A strong note sounded, a dozen other strings vibrating in sympathy with it, creating a web of intricate sound that Ed almost found himself lost in.</p><p>It was breathtaking.</p><p>He pushed another key, the resulting sound drowning his sense of hearing. He pushed two keys at the same time, listening to their tones clash, faintly jarring something in his teeth as he listened to their dissonance. He pressed two more, these sounding like they were made to fit together, and in his mind, he could see light.</p><p>He stopped.</p><p>"Ed?" Mustang asked cautiously.</p><p>Ed didn't respond. He pushed the same two notes, the light in his mind resolving into a night sky with burning stars. It was nothing like his memories, the brilliance of them fading like old photographs left in the sun. This image almost looked real— so real, so vivid to him that he felt his heart leap.</p><p>Slowly, the image receded, disappearing like a rock to the bottom of a murky lake. His mind, so long starved of such visual pleasures, craved them like he had craved food after being starved for so long. Fingers trembling with excitement, he pushed the keys again, and the image returned full-force. It was something from his memory, the night sky in Resmbool, but somehow the music was able to restore it as if he had just seen it the day before, as if he wasn't forgetting what it was to see.</p><p>He sensed that the notes needed to change, to go somewhere. If he could figure out where they were supposed to go, he could make the picture change.</p><p>He could see. With sound, he could see.</p><p>It was supposed to go higher, he knew. He reached his automail hand beside him until he found the bench, lowering his aching body to the smooth wooden surface, but he didn't dare take his other hand off the keys, lest he loose them. Lest he loose that image.</p><p>He held his hand there, and with his right, he reached over his real hand and tried to find the note he needed, the tone that would make it move. His automail slipped and clacked against the smooth surface, but he pushed a couple of keys, none of them sounding how he wanted. He searched a bit higher until he'd found the pitch.</p><p>He remembered sitting in the tall grass, watching the stars with Alphonse and Winry.</p><p>He played the same notes over and over again, and when the picture wasn't moving enough, he hunted out more notes.</p><p>A strange sensation suddenly tugged at his face. It felt unnatural, but pleasant, and it took him a long moment to realize he was smiling.</p><p>Though his eyes were still as blind as before, he had just seen light after months of darkness.</p><p>"Mustang," he breathed to the man right beside him. "I can <em>see."</em></p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy had never seen anything quite like it.</p><p>Watching Ed at the piano was like watching a flower come into bloom. Ed had gone from tense and closed-off to content and focused all in the span of a few minutes. He sat at the bench, poking at the keys with uncertain hands, but with definite purpose. And was that a tune he was coming up with? It was . . . remarkable.</p><p>Then he had turned around and said he could <em>see</em>.</p><p>Roy wasn't sure what that had meant, but it had been months since he had seen <em>that</em> smile, the one that was pleased and contented and almost happy. Roy didn't care if he was breaking from reality. For Ed, any sort of break of the positive kind was welcomed.</p><p>Maybe Silas wasn't such a moron after all . . .</p><p>Slowly, Roy retreated back to his seat, careful not to break the trance, if that was what it was. Ed was actually doing something besides sitting there and looking anxious or terrified, and Roy wanted it to last as long as possible.</p><p>Unfortunately, life wasn't nearly that simple.</p><p>The doorbell rang, making Ed jump in his seat. The blanket that had slipped off of his shoulders and draped around his waist unnoticed was quickly gathered in his startled hands and wrapped tightly around him. "Mustang?" he asked, voice tight with blatant fear.</p><p>"It's okay, Ed," Roy assured him, quickly going to his side. He put a placating hand on the boy's shoulder, but Ed jumped at the contact, twisting away. His breathing took off, and Roy could only imagine what his heart was doing.</p><p>"It's not time . . . it can't be time, it's not time," Ed babbled, any last traces of peace shattering. "They can't be here."</p><p>"Edward, they're not due here for another couple of hours," Roy assured him, again putting his hand on Ed's shoulder. This time, Ed grabbed onto his sleeve and didn't let go. "It might just be something else having to do with the piano. Want to wait here while I see about it?"</p><p>Ed looked visibly torn from wanting to hide and wanting to stay next to Roy. Eventually he released Roy with trembling hands and nodded, one hand curling around his throat.</p><p>Roy turned and marched to the door. He wondered if it would be rude to completely incinerate whoever had interrupted Ed. For the first time in months, Ed had found something to enjoy, and now some idiot had scared him back into himself again!</p><p>He stopped at the door a moment to steady himself. His head was still trying to split itself apart and for some reason, he felt like he'd been hit with a train. He decided that the sleepless nights were starting to catch up with him. With some effort, he schooled his features into a fierce glare, then pulled open the door, a scolding on his lips. He stopped short.</p><p>Standing on the doorstep were two people dressed in comfortable travel attire. The one in the back was a man as big as a mountain. He had a prominent brow, his squared face rimmed with a thick black beard. His frame, though not fit and trim like Armstrong's, suggested unbelievable strength and power. In his bear-like hands he clutched a pair of suitcases, and his glare suggested that he'd rather rip Roy apart than look at him.</p><p>The one right before Roy was an older woman, probably late forties. She had severe features, with eyes so dark they looked black. Her hair was pulled back into dreadlocks, spilling behind her head like a horse's tail. Her bare arms were roped with muscle and her stance suggested that if the man didn't rip Roy apart, she'd be willing to have a go at it. And were those house shoes on her feet . . .?</p><p>"Colonel Roy Mustang?" the woman demanded, her tone the one of someone used to being answered and obeyed.</p><p>Roy could have sworn that he heard a little gasp from the living room behind him. He planted his feet and returned her stern gaze. "That's right. And may I ask who the two of you are?"</p><p>The woman exchanged a look with her partner before stepping closer.</p><p>"My name is Izumi Curtis and I'm here to see my idiot apprentice."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Teacher was here.</p><p>He could hear them talking, but now it sounded like they were talking from the bottom of a well. He felt lightheaded, his heart once again racing in his chest, blood singing in his ears.</p><p>He all but fell off of the piano bench, struggling with his uncooperative body to get his feet underneath him. He tried to shuffle backwards, headed for where the stairs should be, but he bumped into something. The coffee table? Or maybe the end of a couch. The piano had him turned around, and he was headed the wrong direction. He wasn't sure where he was going, but the voices were getting closer. Which way were the stairs?!</p><p>Ed couldn't let her see him like this. Then she would see how much he had failed, how worthless he had become, and she would hate him for it. His teacher couldn't stand weakness, and that's all he was now. She would regret ever training him and he didn't know if he could take her disappointment in addition to everyone else's. It was too much.</p><p>He wanted to call out for Mustang, but then she would hear, too. He felt trapped, his back pressed against the wall and the chain biting painfully into his neck as he tried to keep them away.</p><p>One of the wolves snarled somewhere to his right, the sound making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Stay back," he hissed, trying to stand on shaking legs. His automail wouldn't cooperate, though, and the only thing holding him up was the wall. He couldn't run, couldn't fight.</p><p>He heard them circling, pacing, and there was no way out.</p><p>
  <em>"Edward!"</em>
</p><p>He flinched away from the shout, his mind racing. Some instinct told him he was supposed to respond, to obey, but his legs were frozen and he didn't know where he was. His chest heaved with effort and he tried to remain quiet and still, his last effective defense against whatever was there. He pressed his body against the wall, clutching the blanket around his throat and listening desperately to try to hear what was happening.</p><p>He felt eyes on him, and he swallowed back a whimper.</p><p>"Edward," the same voice said again. It was low and rough, but it held a warmth that the sharp edge couldn't disguise it all. It made him both terrified and comforted, but now his terror was starting to outweigh any ease he might have felt.</p><p>There was no way this could be real because there was absolutely no reason for her to be here.</p><p>"This isn't real," he said decidedly, or tried to. His voice shook too much to be convincing, so he tried again. "It's not real . . . it's not."</p><p>"Fullmetal," Mustang's voice called out, and Ed exhaled a tight breath. But what if he wasn't real, either? What if the past few weeks had all been some beautiful dream? The hallucinations sometimes seemed real enough. Maybe that was all it had been.</p><p>He shuffled against the wall, trying to find a corner, something to hide behind, anything. Anything to orient himself with other than sound, because he couldn't trust the voices. "Stay back," he ordered, still sidling along the wall, trying to put some distance between whomever or whatever was in front of him.</p><p>"Edward Elric, stop being an <em>idiot!"</em> that voice said again, the familiar searing tone making him flinch.</p><p>Her next words were softer, almost maternal. "You know me. You know my voice."</p><p>Footsteps approached and he instinctively cowered, hand shooting up to cover his throat, because it only took thirty-three pounds of pressure to crush a trachea and then he'd be gone and they would eat his body like they did with that other man. He couldn't let them bite him. Their soft growls rumbled through the basement like quiet thunder.</p><p>"Edward," she murmured, cutting through the fog of terrible memories. "You know me."</p><p>Yes, he knew her. The one that was almost like a second mother to him and Alphonse. The one that taught him about combat and alchemy and what it means to be alive. The one that would beat him senseless one moment, and the next hug him and tell him that she was proud of him.</p><p>"T . . . Teacher?" he tried, his voice a whisper in case he was wrong.</p><p>She was right in front of him. He heard the rustle of cloth and she was crouching before him, washing him in her scent of ginger and cinnamon. "That's right, Ed," she said, her voice just as quiet as his.</p><p>His stomach twisted as he held out his flesh hand, looking for undeniable proof. <em>Needing</em> it.</p><p>A strong, cold hand wrapped around it, and he pulled back reflexively from the restraining sensation, but strong, slim fingers curled around his and she pulled his startled body against hers. She was all muscle and softness and warmth, and once there, Ed found himself unwilling to move away.</p><p>"Edward, you idiot," she said softly, a hundred emotions ringing in those three words. She held him tightly against her and he wouldn't have been able to pull back even if he'd wanted to.</p><p>With her arms around him, he felt safe. In her arms, he felt like a kid again. There was no woman he feared more, but there was no woman he trusted more. Her opinion mattered to him as much as Mustang's, if not more, and he didn't want to lose that. Not because he was an idiot that ran off and got tortured and blinded. Would she forgive him? Did she know?</p><p>"You stupid, stupid boy," she murmured in his ear, her usually strong voice sounding thick and weak. And . . . did he smell salt? Was she . . . could she be crying?</p><p>"Teacher?" he asked, slowly removing one arm from its protective position around his torso and carefully wrapping it around her thin, strong waist. It was like hugging a tiger—and had always been about just as safe—but he couldn't stand people crying, especially over him.</p><p>She pulled him closer to her, burying his face into her shoulder. He let her. "I'm sorry, Edward," she whispered, something wet splashing on the hand he still had around his throat and he winced. "Alphonse told me everything, and I'm so sorry."</p><p>"Teacher, it's okay . . ." he tried, but now his own voice was feeling thick and it was hard to keep it steady. He wasn't going to cry in front of her, not when she was already hurting enough.</p><p>"Shut up," she said. There was no fire in her words, but he shut up anyway. She rocked him back and forth. "We came as soon as we could, but it took us a couple of days after Alphonse called. I'm so sorry, Edward." He didn't think she was apologizing about the time it took.</p><p>Then why was she apologizing? She didn't do anything . . . all of it, everything, was his own fault. "Teacher, you don't have anything to be sorry for," he mumbled, patting her shoulder with his clumsy automail hand.</p><p>The woman took a deep breath, as if Ed's words caused her actual pain. She didn't say anything more. She just held him.</p><p>Ed didn't comment on the warm tears he could feel sliding down his neck. He just curled up closer against her and tried to remember her face.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy didn't want to do it.</p><p>But Havoc, Hawkeye and Silas would arrive any minute, and Ed had to be ready for it.</p><p>Ed was currently on the couch, his small emaciated body nestled between Izumi and Sig Curtis. He looked almost completely relaxed, as if he were merely falling asleep instead of staring ahead sightlessly with his half-lidded blank eyes. His head was leaning on Izumi's shoulder and she gently stroked his hair and read aloud from a book, while Sig simply sat there, their combined presence and physical contact apparently enough to soothe Ed in a way Roy alone had never been able to. They almost looked like some strange sort of mismatched family, and Roy felt a twinge somewhere in his gut at the thought. If he were feeling generous, he might have named the twinge "jealousy," but since that was silly, he dismissed it completely.</p><p>He cleared his throat. Izumi and Sig glanced up, but Ed merely stiffened a little, his fingers curling around Izumi's sleeve just a bit tighter. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Ed will have his debriefing at seven. It's almost time."</p><p>Any trace of comfort and contentedness that had been on Ed's face completely evaporated. His body went ridged, drawing his legs and arms in to himself and the hand not holding onto Izumi pulling up to grip his throat.</p><p>Izumi and Sig watched this, then the woman set her book to the side and turned a cold glare his way. "What debriefing?"</p><p>Roy shifted on his feet, some base instinct in the back of his mind twitching at her glare. "Edward is giving his report tonight. In order to proceed with the investigation, we need more information on what happened."</p><p>Izumi glanced at Ed, the hand on his back pulling him protectively against her. Again Roy felt that twinge in his gut and again he shoved it aside.</p><p>It was funny, but Roy wasn't sure when he had grown so used to being the one Ed needed for comfort. Now that he was holding onto someone else, he missed it.</p><p>How selfish could he be?</p><p>"Is this . . . necessary?" Izumi asked, her glare once again back on Roy.</p><p>Ed surprised them both by speaking. "It's necessary."</p><p>They all turned to look at him. He continued, "I have to . . . and . . . do you think you both could leave? Just while . . . while I tell them?" Even as he spoke he sounded like he wanted to hold onto both of them forever, to never let them out of his reach, but Roy understood. Many torture victims experienced an undue amount of shame about the humiliations they've been subjected to, and the fewer people they had to tell, the better.</p><p>Roy hoped that they'd already heard the worst of it.</p><p>Some sort of war was waging in the woman's eyes. She looked like she was ready to rip something apart, and Roy absently wondered if it would be him. Finally her dark eyes stilled. "If that's what you want," she finally said, stroking his hair with pale, motherly hands. She kept her eyes on Ed, but her words were mostly for Roy. "Sig and I are staying at a hotel in the city and will be in town tomorrow. We'll stop by in the morning." Her tone left no room for argument or protests. Her eyes shifted to meet his in a challenging glare. "We'll talk then."</p><p>Roy nodded, something akin to dread fluttering in his gut. "Understood."</p><p>Izumi and Sig slowly got to their feet, Ed clinging the woman's side and following them up. Sig helped his wife into a coat he produced from one of their suitcases, then Izumi tucked the boy under her arm and kept close to her husband as they made for the door.</p><p>When they got to the entry hall, Ed stopped.</p><p>Izumi looked at him, then to Roy for an explanation. Roy motioned to the outside and mouthed "cold." Her gaze hardened for a brief second, then she turned back to Ed. "We'll be back tomorrow, Ed," she said gently, one hand brushing back his bangs from his face.</p><p>Ed nodded, looking like he was trying and failing to work up the courage to somehow go with them. Roy ignored that twinge, too. "Early?" he asked.</p><p>She gave a soft smile he couldn't see. "Early," she promised. "You're brave for doing this, Ed. I know it's hard."</p><p>Ed's almost-vacant expression started to crumble and a couple of tears spilled down his cheek. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Teacher," he whimpered. "I'm sorry."</p><p>Izumi reached forward and pulled him close to her in a tight hug. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Ed. I'm very proud of you. Sig and I couldn't be prouder."</p><p>The large man at Izumi's side stepped forward and put a huge hand on Ed's head, ruffling his hair affectionately, and spoke for the first time. "You'll be fine," he said, his voice a low rumble, and he sounded sure. Like he knew Ed would get through this.</p><p>Roy wished he had the same confidence.</p><p>Ed's lips twitched in a smile that faltered then fell altogether. "Thank you." Roy knew he was thanking them for more than kind words. He seemed to be fighting something internal, his expression torn. Then with twitching hands, he finally pulled back just a little.</p><p>Izumi helped by pulling back the rest. "We'll see you in the morning," she said, and with a pained look in her eyes, she turned away, pulled her coat tighter to herself, and walked out the door.</p><p>Sig gave Roy a nod, glanced back at Ed once more, then followed his wife out into the cold evening.</p><p>Roy was quick to shut the door after them, cutting off the sharp winter wind. He locked it then turned to look at his charge.</p><p>Ed stared ahead, looking lost and alone, his body tense and a hand over his throat. A few tear tracks were slowly drying on his cheeks while a few new ones slipped past them. He looked like an abandoned child, and some base, protective instinct in Roy flared. He stepped forward. "Ed?"</p><p>Ed flinched from his voice, then closed his eyes and stilled. "Yeah?" he asked. It sounded like he was trying not to cry.</p><p>Roy put a hand on his shoulder and he only twitched in surprise at the contact. "Why don't we have another look at that piano until Hawkeye and Havoc get here?"</p><p>The pain on his face seemed to dim just a bit. "Okay . . . okay."</p><p>Roy guided Ed back to the piano, sitting him down once again on the polished bench and guiding his hands to the keys. Ed slowly began to pick at the notes again, slipping back into the tune he had been working on before they were interrupted.</p><p>He didn't quite manage to make it to anything resembling peace before the doorbell rang again.</p><p>Ed didn't panic. He didn't jump. He just stiffened, then crumpled forward and put his head on the piano.</p><p>Roy was at his side in an instant, his heart jumping into his throat. "Ed?" he demanded, putting a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Ed just shook his head, his breath shuddering and his eyes shut.</p><p>Unsure if it was safe to leave him even for a moment, Roy fought with himself before finally tearing away from Ed's side. "I'll be right back, Ed," he said, quickly going to the door and opening it.</p><p>Hawkeye stood on the doorstep, brushing a few flakes of snow from her coat. She had a bag clutched under her arm, most likely filled with his team's findings. "Sir," she greeted, slipping into the house and out of the cold.</p><p>Roy all but ignored her, shutting the door then walking past her and back into the living room. Ed was where he had left him, still leaning his head on the piano, but now with one hand grasping his throat and the blanket while the other clawed at his eyes as if in pain.</p><p>"Ed, what's wrong?" Roy asked, making an effort to shove down the panic that was bubbling in his chest. When Ed didn't respond with more than a shake of his head, Roy got closer, gripping the boy's flesh arm in one hand and turning his knees around in the other so that the blond faced him, but Ed still held his hand over his face. "Ed, let me see your face."</p><p>The hand over his eyes shook and slowly lowered until he was staring at the floor, a few tears dripping down to fall on the carpet. He raised his head, his wide, pale eyes unseeing and empty and yet somehow able to find their way to Roy's very soul.</p><p>"They're here, aren't they?"</p><p>The lost, trembling voice broke Roy's heart.</p><p>"I don't. . . I don't know if I can talk about this, Colonel," he whispered, folding in on himself again, like he could disappear. "It gets worse, it gets so much worse, and what if I don't snap out of it? What if I can't . . . Mustang, I can't get stuck back there." He wrenched his eyes shut, but it did nothing for the tears spilling over. He grabbed his face again, metal fingertips digging into his hair. He was breathing hard now in tortured, wretched sobs, and Roy had seen enough to know Ed was in the beginnings of a panic attack.</p><p>Gently, Roy pushed him over on the bench to make room for himself. He sat down and wrapped both arms around the child. "Ed, I need you to just calm down and breathe. Can you do that for me?"</p><p>Ed was like a coiled spring in his arms, his poor starved body quivering with stress. Roy rubbed circles on his back like he had seen Hughes do for Elicia when she was getting upset. He wasn't sure if it worked on anyone older than four, but he was willing to try anything to avoid an attack.</p><p>"I just wanted to see Teacher's face," Ed whispered, voice rough and grating on Roy's ears like sandpaper. Roy had an aching suspicion that the Curtis' visit had somehow set this off, as if their presence had given him a glimpse of what he could things could be like. "They could have taken anything . . . another arm, another leg, but they took my eyes." His voice began escalating. "They took my eyes, they took them, <em>they took everything."</em> Suddenly he was thrashing like a live wire, and Roy was fairly certain his mind wasn't in the living room anymore. It was all he could do to hang on and keep the boy from hurting himself or Roy.</p><p>"Edward, it's in your head," he said as calmly as he could, but he sounded strained even to his own ears. His eyes snapped up to lock with Hawkeye's. She'd been watching the whole thing, and looked like she was ready to dive in and take control of the situation, but something told Roy that allowing her to do that would be a bad thing. He shook his head at her, watched her eyes narrow in understanding, then turned his attention back to Ed. "Come on, Fullmetal, listen to my voice."</p><p>Tears were rolling down his face now, unabated and hot. He sobbed and gripped Roy's shirt in both hands, pushing the side of his face to him. "It won't stop!" he cried, muscles spasming as if he were in the throes of agony and Roy was the only anchor in it all.</p><p>"Ed—"</p><p>The boy abruptly stilled.</p><p>"Stay back," he hissed, voice fierce over a thick current of terror. "Stay away from me. Don't touch me. <em>Don't touch me."</em></p><p>"Edward Elric," Roy murmured, as gently as he knew how.</p><p>Ed shuddered and blinked, but his eyes clouded over again. "Stay . . . stay back . . ."</p><p>"Edward," Roy said again. "You can do this."</p><p>He shook his head as if to rid himself of a thought. "Don't . . . don't."</p><p>"You know where you are. This is my house, and you're safe here," Roy dared to move, to resituate Ed so that he was more comfortable. Ed didn't exactly fight it, but he didn't help either. "Remember? Silas just got you this piano. And the Curtis' just visited. Now Hawkeye's here, and the others will be here shortly."</p><p>Some of the clarity returned to the boy's eyes, and Roy knew that as long as nothing else surprised him, it was over. Ed's grip on the front of his shirt loosened, then tightened up again. "Colonel?" he whimpered, his voice so soft that Roy barely heard it in the silent room.</p><p>Roy started rubbing circles again. "That's right, Ed. I'm not going anywhere."</p><p>"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . ."</p><p>"Shh. Nothing to apologize for."</p><p>Something in the corner of Roy's vision moved and he looked up to see Hawkeye motioning to him. She made a gesture, asking him what he wanted her to do. He mouthed "door" to her. She nodded and disappeared into the entry hall.</p><p>"It gets so much worse," Ed whimpered. "I don't know if I can talk about it . . . I don't know if I can come back if I remember everything . . . I was just back there. . . just thinking about talking about it sent me right back . . ."</p><p>"Ed, you don't have to talk about it," Roy said. He wished he wouldn't. Even if it would help in the investigation—even though it would help him find the monsters that did this to his youngest subordinate—Roy couldn't stand to see Ed in pain. He hated watching all that horrible, sickening terror every time he relived it. It seemed cruel to make him remember when all he wanted to do was forget.</p><p>Ed shook his head. "But I have to . . . I have to, and that's what makes it worse." His voice cracked at the end and he pressed his head into Roy's tear-stained side. "What if they do this to someone else? What if it happens again, just because I was too much of a coward? It could be to you, or the Lieutenant . . . I can't hide because it's hard. Then they would win."</p><p>Despite his own trepidation, Roy couldn't help but feel a faint sense of pride for the boy. He rubbed his blond head affectionately. "They don't make them any stronger than you, kid."</p><p>Ed seemed to lean into the contact, like his thin, shivering body was trying to escape an intangible cold. "That's not how it feels. I don't feel strong. I feel pathetic."</p><p>"Now you know how I feel when it rains."</p><p>Half of a smile flitted across his face for just a moment before disappearing.</p><p>"Whatever you choose, I'll back you up," Roy promised.</p><p>Ed went still. He didn't say anything for a long time, and Roy was starting to wonder if he had fallen asleep.</p><p>Finally, he moved, bringing up a corner of the blanket to dry his face while the other held tightly onto Roy. "I . . . I said I'd do it tonight. So I will."</p><p>Even as Roy felt his heart sink, there was a strange, quivering sort of energy to the statement that gave him pause. It sounded suspiciously like that peculiar Elric brand of determination, and Roy couldn't help the thin, wary smile that found its way to his lips.</p><p>He hoped that determination would be enough to get Ed through the evening.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Warning: This chapter gets pretty rough/dark. I'm not sure how else to put it . . . just be cautious, m'kay? Moving on . . .</strong>
</p><hr/><p>Roy couldn't help but glance nervously up the stairs every few minutes. Silas had offered to teach Ed some exercises to help keep his body from rejecting the automail while they waited for Havoc and Roy was debriefed on his team's findings, and though Roy knew Ed was perfectly safe, he couldn't help but worry when he was out of sight.</p><p>He had looked so tired and so desperate just a few minutes ago. What was this debriefing going to do to him?</p><p>Roy had the horrible, gnawing feeling that it might break him completely.</p><p>He turned back around to see Hawkeye staring at him. He tried to school his features into something blank and unaffected. "What?"</p><p>Hawkeye looked at him critically. "Sir, you look flushed. Are you feeling alright?" Without waiting for a verbal response, she put a cool hand on his forehead. He blinked and instinctively backed away a step, but it seemed she'd already formed some kind of deduction. Her gaze turned concerned. "Roy, you have a fever."</p><p>He gently took her extended hand in his, a silent apology for pulling back from her. Once he had her hand though, he didn't want to let go. Her hand was strong, like a lifeline, the simple touch triggering an ache in his chest that was lonely and tired and just wanted someone to lean on for a bit. After a night full of nightmares following a few days of little sleep, he knew himself enough to know he was nearing the end of his rope.</p><p>Still, he had a job to do. He couldn't back out, or even take time off. Not after he had allowed this to happen to Ed. To be sick was admitting defeat, and that was something Ed couldn't afford. "It can't be a very high one. I just feel a bit off."</p><p>She frowned at him. "Silas is going to look you over before we leave," she informed, pulling her hand back a bit. Roy's fingers tightened around hers, unwilling to give up contact just yet. She stopped pulling and gave him an analyzing stare. "You haven't been sleeping. And this has been a highly stressful situation—"</p><p>"Hawkeye, you already assured me I would be getting a day off this week." He gave her a small smile. "I'll take a break, I promise." It just may not quite be the one she had in mind.</p><p>"A day off isn't going to fix this," she said sternly. "You're getting sick, Colonel."</p><p>"I have an obligation, Riza," he said, his voice softer and more controlled than he felt. It felt like the only thing keeping him together was the hand he held. "He's not some project I can just leave when I don't feel well. He needs consistency and normalcy, and I can't give that to him if I take days off."</p><p>In her eyes, he saw her mask of stoicism slip just a bit, revealing a spark of uncertainty before she slammed it back into place. "You can't take care of him if you run yourself into the ground, sir," she said. "And besides, he needs to interact with other people. It's not good for him to be so isolated."</p><p>She had a fair point. "But even then, I can't leave him alone. Not at first. There aren't many people he will tolerate being by himself with." He didn't want to bring up the Curtis' visit. That would only give his Lieutenant more reason to force some time off on him, and he knew Ed couldn't handle it. Not after his debriefing.</p><p>Or maybe Roy wasn't as essential as he thought, and was doing all of this purely out of guilt.</p><p>No, he'd made a promise, to Alphonse and to Ed. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself.</p><p>Again she tried to pull her hand back in an effort to turn away from him, and again his hand didn't release her. She looked down at his fingers as they twined with hers. "Sir?"</p><p>He closed the distance between them, close enough that their toes touched. All the while, she watched him with those sherry-brown eyes, a trace of knowing in her gaze. She knew what he needed. After all, she knew him better than he knew himself.</p><p>He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body close to his. She allowed it, letting him rest his head on her shoulder. Her body was warm and soft, her scent familiar and comforting, and it helped ease the ache in his chest just a bit. "I'm sorry, Riza," he said. He was sorry for a lot of things. He was sorry for not being able to handle his own mistakes. He was sorry about dragging her and the rest of his team into its clean-up. He was sorry about not being able to keep himself together while he did.</p><p>One of her hands rubbed circles between his shoulder blades. "Don't apologize for being human, Roy," she said softly.</p><p>He felt his eyes burn with tears he refused to let fall. How did she get to be so strong and he so weak? "It feels like it's all falling apart . . . and tonight it may break completely," he whispered into her hair. "We've been pushing him and pushing him, and I don't know if he's going to be okay after tonight. And all of it will be my fault."</p><p>"You were just following orders."</p><p>"I should have known better."</p><p>"You did your job," she said, her voice still strong despite how thin and small his own sounded.</p><p>She held him for a while, until the knot in his chest loosened and he found himself able to breathe a bit easier. A small, sad smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his head from her shoulder and put it on top of her head, threading his arms over hers until he was the one holding <em>her</em>, the way it was supposed to be. "I swear, you're the only thing that keeps me together some days. Don't you ever cry, Riza?"</p><p>"It's a bit hard to find the sun if it rains everywhere you look, don't you think?" she asked gently, warm breath brushing his neck. She was trying to say she was being there for him, but all he heard was that she knew he couldn't afford her to cry in front of him, so she would do it by herself.</p><p>His smile fell a bit. It wasn't fair that she had to shoulder his insecurities and shortcomings as well as her own. "Always the strong one, aren't you?" he asked softly.</p><p>"Just until it's your turn again."</p><p>He smiled again. "Thanks, Riza."</p><p>The knock on the door made them both jump, the quiet moment shattered. She pulled away from him, and he reluctantly allowed it, but he kept his fingers firmly entwined in hers as he went to the entryway, releasing them only as he opened the door.</p><p>Havoc brushed snow off of his coat, cigarette burning bright in the darkness. Before he could stomp inside with the thing, Roy snagged it from his surprised lips and flicked it out into a nearby snowdrift. "No smoke," he ordered flatly. The blond knew better than to bring that thing lit up inside with Ed the way he was.</p><p>Havoc glanced at him apologetically. "Sorry, Chief. Forgot. With that blizzard building up, I was just trying to keep warm."</p><p>Roy brushed aside his apologies. He knew the blond didn't mean it, but that was just one more thing that would have helped tip Ed over the edge, and Ed didn't need the extra shove. "What did we figure out?" he asked, locking the door.</p><p>With both hands now free, Hawkeye grabbed the messenger bag she'd brought as Havoc flipped his open. Roy cleared away some of his research on the coffee table and they sat down on the sofas. Roy sat down next to Hawkeye, close enough that their sides touched. If Havoc noticed, he wisely kept his mouth shut as he spread out some files, favoring his bruised wrist. It was a horrid purpled and red, like putrid flowers blooming under his skin. Roy winced in sympathy.</p><p>"Armstrong was able to get in touch with his sister," Havoc said, picking up a file and passing it to Roy. Inside was an autopsy report. "Lieutenant Colonel Bearden's cause of death was indeterminable. Seems the wildlife got to him before a patrol discovered his body."</p><p>There were no pictures, but Roy decided he didn't really need to see them. "Did we get his file?"</p><p>"Missing," Hawkeye supplied. "All we know is that he transferred to Briggs last year. His superior claims that he was dependable, though a little off. Apparently his family died in a car accident right before his transfer, so he hadn't been himself."</p><p>Roy pursed his lips. "Something to look further into, then. Like why his records are missing. Any information on this 'Operation Firefight?'"</p><p>"We haven't been able to turn anything up on that front yet, but—"He picked up a thick file and set it heavy in Roy's hands. "Former Brigadier General Sherman. That's his whole file. I replaced it with a dummy file in the library, but it won't hold up to much scrutiny if someone actually looks at it, so I'd appreciate it if you'd get it back to me real soon so I can put it back without getting court martialed."</p><p>Roy looked at him. "You stole it?"</p><p>He shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."</p><p>"That's a yes," Hawkeye supplied, her own eyes narrowing.</p><p>Havoc raised his hands in innocence. "Hey, it's a library. You're supposed to check out materials."</p><p>"Not retired military personnel files," Hawkeye said. "Those are restricted. How did you even get back there? You have to be a Lieutenant Colonel to even enter that section of the library."</p><p>He smiled. "It was easy. I just got Breda to make a bit of a distraction."</p><p><em>"Distraction?"</em> Hawkeye asked, her voice thin with barely concealed dread.</p><p>"Nothing extreme," he said with a shrug. He didn't look nearly as concerned as Roy thought he should, especially given the tone of voice the Lieutenant was using. "Though a trashcan or two may have spontaneously combusted. And maybe the librarian's desk."</p><p>Hawkeye turned her head slowly, a heated glare searing into Roy's temple. Roy wasn't sure he wanted to sit so close anymore. "Exactly <em>what</em> kind of example have you been setting for your men?"</p><p>Now it was his turn to raise his hands in an innocent, placating gesture. "Hawkeye, I haven't been there in over a week. You can't blame me for this."</p><p>She didn't seem at all dissuaded. She turned her attention back on Havoc, who noticeably shrank under her glare. "That's the second incident this week, Lieutenant. The next fire I hear about had better be produced in self-defense, or there will be consequences." She shot a pointed glance at Roy, who tried valiantly not to quail back. "Do I make myself clear?"</p><p>"Yes, ma'am," Havoc choked out.</p><p>At the risk of being shot, Roy cleared his throat deliberately and opened the file before him. "So, Sherman."</p><p>"Right," Havoc said, seeming to get his bearings about him. "Falman and Fuery did some comparisons on your histories. The only place you could have met was at the military academy. He taught a course called 'Military and Ethics' before he retired. You would have been one of his last few classes."</p><p>Roy frowned, then the memories clicked. <em>Of course.</em> That's where he'd known him from . . . he remembered speaking up in class, questioning the other man's totalistic views, and what he had called 'ethics,' Roy had called 'immoral.' The man was a malicious scumbag if Roy had ever seen one, and had taken every chance he could to single Roy out of the class and make him miserable for having the nerve to contradict him. Hughes had shaken his head and told him to let sleeping dogs lie, but Roy couldn't stand the way the man talked about superior races and eugenics and things as if they were somehow justifiable.</p><p>How had he possibly forgotten that? "Yes, I remember . . . he couldn't stand me one bit, and I didn't like him any more than he liked me."</p><p>And there was no such thing as coincidence.</p><p>Roy looked at Havoc. "After he left the military, what happened?"</p><p>"Seems he took an interest in politics, applied for an administrative position in North City, but the Fuhrer declined his application for unknown reasons."</p><p>Roy flipped through the file thoughtfully. "And where is he now?"</p><p>"His whereabouts are unknown," Hawkeye supplied. "Seems he's gone off the grid."</p><p>Something in his gut constricted as he again stared at the man's picture. Cold eyes glinted back at him, and he felt his insides writhe. "Find him," he ordered, glancing between Hawkeye and Havoc. "I want to know where he is <em>yesterday</em>."</p><p>Havoc gave him a sloppy salute. "We'll have an update for you tomorrow, sir."</p><p>Roy nodded, the feeling of finally heading in the right direction filling him with a soft flicker of hope that he hadn't felt since finding Ed's whereabouts. Things were finally moving. Slowly but surely, things were being made better, if not right.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed hated this room. Nothing good ever happened in this room.</p><p>By some miracle, he had once again made it to the chair with Mustang's help. He was tired and scared and just wanted the whole thing over. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting expectantly for him to begin, to pick up where he'd left off.</p><p>He fisted Mustang's sleeve in his hand.</p><p>"Alright, Ed," Hawkeye said gently. "We ended with your first interrogation. They asked you about 'Operation Firefight.' What happened next?"</p><p>He didn't quite suppress a shiver. He tried to remember Izumi's face, but he couldn't quite recall it.</p><p>"That was when the brought a body down to the basement."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>The door opened, jarring him from a light sleep and sending a slice of light over his head with nearly blinding intensity. Despite the way it seared, he stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. He didn't want to get caught on the ground again. His left side was on fire, with six knife wounds trailing up his body. Four days without food and only enough water to keep him alive had begun to have an adverse effect on him. His mind was dull, his movements lethargic at best, and his body had started to take on a thin, sickly look, the shadows between his ribs beginning to become prominent. His insides felt hallow and empty, a permanent ache settling over his body with his stomach as its focal point.</p><p>Still, he wanted to be on his feet. It was harder for them to kick him that way.</p><p>The wolves became quiet and watchful, all of them staying well off to the side where they had been dozing moments before, glinting eyes watching and waiting.</p><p>Three men came down the stairs. Ed recognized the first as the Interrogator. Behind him, the other two men manhandled a large canvas bag.</p><p>Ed tried to summon a glare, but even to himself, it felt weak, like his body thought expressions were too much trouble. "What do you want?" he demanded, his dry throat making the words sound like sandpaper.</p><p>The Interrogator smiled, stepping aside before he got to the bottom of the stairs to let the other two by. "We thought you might be hungry," he said.</p><p>Ed's stomach let out a hopeful whine, but Ed didn't have the will to be embarrassed about it. He watched with eyes that couldn't help but be eager as they unzipped their cargo. Ed wondered why they'd brought it in such a bag, and why it took two men to carry it.</p><p>Then, they rolled out the body.</p><p>It was a man in military uniform, the bars on his shoulders indicating he was a Lieutenant Colonel. What little was visible of his skin was pale and clammy, glassy eyes opened and lips parted, his expression forever frozen in a terrified plea. A deep red gash interrupted the cold pallor, cutting across his neck with heartless precision, a stream of dried blood crusted below the wound like claws.</p><p>Bile climbed high in Ed's throat and it was all he could do to stagger from his sleeping spot to the end of his chain and retch stomach acid on the stone floor.</p><p>"Dinner," the Interrogator said simply. "Come now, men, the dog 's leash doesn't reach that far. Move it closer."</p><p>Ed didn't want the body anywhere near him. He wiped his mouth on his only arm. "Keep it away from me," he choked, unable to leave the wall's support. "Get it away."</p><p>They ignored him, dragging the body so that it was lying right next to his sleeping spot. If he ever slept again, he'd be waking up next to a corpse.</p><p>"Don't be ungrateful, boy. It's not every day you get food." He chuckled like it was some sort of joke.</p><p>"That isn't food. That's a human being," Ed said, backing away from the body as far as his chain would allow. It pulled on his neck and he stopped, unable to get four feet between him and the cadaver.</p><p>"Well, I can assure you that if you don't eat it, your roommates will," he said, gesturing over to the animals. The creatures' noses were all pointed at the dead man, eyes wondering from the Drachmen, then back to the corpse, waiting for an opening. "And who knows when food will arrive next?"</p><p>"Get him out of here," Ed snarled, trying to bring himself to stand on his own, but his body was shaking with weakness and he couldn't leave the wall if he wanted to stay upright.</p><p>"You are in no position to give orders, little boy," the Interrogator said. "Borsk?"</p><p>The big man stepped over, then knocked him on his backside like Ed was made of paper. Cold stone bit into his naked body, the pain on his abused ribs making him gasp. He tried to get on his feet, but Borsk just rolled him over with a booted foot and planted it painfully in his gut, like a hunter staking his claim.</p><p>"Such a pathetic little boy," Borsk purred, reaching down to tweak his nose with a cruel, patronizing hand. Ed twisted his head, trying to worm away from the man that smelled like death, but the boot came down harder and the hand grabbed hold of his neck in a painful grip. Ed cried out and clawed at the man's wrist with his only hand, but it didn't move. "Such a tiny thing. I could kill you right now with just a push of my thumb." As if to demonstrate, a finger drove into his trachea. Ed's eyes went wide as his air was almost cut off, his lungs straining to draw breathe. "I see it in your eyes: you hold out for rescue, but no one comes," Borsk chuckled. "How naïve."</p><p>Ed wanted to tell him to shut up, but the hand on his throat had slipped underneath the collar and was now cutting off his air supply entirely.</p><p>It didn't take too long for his vision to start tunneling. He scratched at the hands with panicked fingers, but the man was as immovable as a mountain.</p><p>His lungs were on fire.</p><p>"Borsk," the Interrogator warned, his voice sounding far-off to Ed's ringing ears. "We need him alive."</p><p>With a feral grin, Borsk released him. Ed gasped in a choking breath, rolling to his side and holding his throat as he took in sweet oxygen in ragged pants. Borsk planted a dismissive kick to Ed's backside on his way past. Ed curled up, too dizzy to do anything more than grunt in pain.</p><p>"Well, then, enjoy your meal. I'm sure the wolves will show you how it's done, if you're not sure how to begin." With that, he and the other two turned, leaving the room and once again shutting him in the dark.</p><p>Leaving the corpse just feet away from him.</p><p>The wolves didn't need to wait for their eyes to adjust to the dimness. Ed heard them creeping through the basement, passing him by as they fell onto the body.</p><p>Ed covered his ears and tried to ignore the grumbling in his stomach and the sickness in his chest.</p><p>They removed the mostly-eaten corpse a day later and brought down a bowl of dark, greyish meat. Ed ate it and managed to convince himself it was chicken.</p><p>He threw it up moments later.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>
  <em>Ed?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Edward?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fullmetal, come on, snap out of it.</em>
</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>They weren't coming.</p><p>Ed could feel it in his soul that they weren't coming.</p><p>Even though he knew they had to be looking—Alphonse would have it no other way—they weren't going to make it in time, and there was something about being on your own that made everything seem so much more than you could possibly handle.</p><p>He had waited as long as he could possibly afford to wait. If he sat there any longer, he would be so weak and injured that there would be no way he could escape on his own, and that would be that. They hadn't come yet, so putting his hopes on a rescue would be wishful thinking, at best. If he wanted to stand a chance of escaping on his own, it had to be now.</p><p>The hard part had been breaking his automail. With the broken bones in his flesh hand and the muscles themselves so weakened by starvation and atrophy, he had been at a loss on how to go about it. There were no loose rocks or anything with which to carve into the stone beneath him, and the entire corner he was chained to was so smeared with dried and fresh blood that there was no way he could use the liquid to make a circle. There would be far too much interference from the collecting matter, and using something with so much iron in it to manipulate metal would only disrupt the transmutation, or even cause a rebound. His only choice was to carve it somehow, and for that, he needed something sharp.</p><p>He had finally managed to ledge the toe in a crack on the stone floor, and by twisting his leg at odd and painful angles, managed to splinter the metal. The thought of Winry taking a wrench to his head over his broken automail made him smile just a bit. He hoped he'd be able to give her that opportunity again.</p><p>As far as he could tell, he worked on the arrays for the better part of five days. They came for him once in that span, and the next day he had been too hurt to even move, much less carve on the tiny circles at the base of his chain.</p><p>Now, he was finally almost through, adding the last vital details on the coarse stone. He would be out of this place and home in a couple of days.</p><p>That's what he liked to tell himself, anyway, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head assuring him that he would die in this hole.</p><p>A shadow slithered in front of him and he flinched back instinctively. By the light filtering through the crack in the door at the top of the stairs, Ed could just barely make out the pale gray pelt of the smallest wolf as she stopped to regard him from only a few feet away. She was even thinner than before, himself included, with sunken eyes and a thinning coat, but that didn't seem to concern her much. For some reason, she had a ridiculous amount of interest in Ed. Of the three of them, she was probably the smartest, always stopping just out of Ed's reach and staring, taunting him with her nearness as if knowing he hated her being so close. The other two at least showed him a healthy level of fear when he was conscious enough to fight back, but this one never did.</p><p>"Hungry?" Ed asked with what must have been a crazed grin plastered across his face. He felt a little crazed. The beast continued to stare aloofly, unconcerned with his hostile tone. "Well, that's too bad, Mittens, because I'm busting out of here. You and your two friends better stay out of my way, if you know what's good for you." He had named her Mittens. Teacher always said there was power in names. Names made things familiar, relatable, and not quite as terrifying. Nameless creatures could haunt your soul, but you could fight against something with a name.</p><p>Alphonse had always wanted to name a cat Mittens.</p><p>Mittens didn't seem impressed with the threat. She continued to stare in a way that made the hairs on the back of Ed's neck stand on end, and as if by some invisible signal, the other two animals appeared from behind the stairs like specters from the mist.</p><p>The big grey one with the yellow eyes and the healing cut across her nose eyed him like one might a particularly troublesome morsel. He'd been the one to give her the gash with his jagged toe. He called her Grey. The other one—the one the color of ink with the crooked jaw and dark amber eyes—slinked along behind her. He'd named her Blackie.</p><p>He wasn't very good with names.</p><p>Grey met his eyes for just a second, and Ed thought he might have to gear up for a fight. Then she turned away and crept back to the far corner of the basement, along the wall and out of his sight, Blackie on her heels. Mittens stared at him a bit longer before turning tail and following.</p><p>Ed released a tight breath. He'd woken up once with Grey's jaws around his throat, and another time with them tearing at his injured side. He certainly wouldn't miss them when he was out.</p><p>Which should have been in about the next hour, if he could get the once-sharp edge of the automail to carve.</p><p>He was lucid enough to realize that he would only get one shot at this. If he didn't get away, there would be no next time. He might be killed for being too much trouble, or they would completely and totally incapacitate him somehow. Either way, failing wasn't an option.</p><p>Because they weren't coming for him. He was on his own.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Light flared, the chain turned brittle, and he was free.</p><p>Despite how weak the metal was, he wasn't able to break the collar from around his neck. His weakened, injured hand barely managed to snap the chain link from the collar, but he managed, letting it fall to the ground with a dull clatter. He would worry about the rest of it later, once he was free.</p><p>The first phase of his escape plan was now complete. He allowed himself a thin smile at the victory.</p><p>Reaching a shaking hand forward, he activated the second circle.</p><p>The wall before him shifted and reformed, the stone moving out and up with a bright flash of light and a groan of rock. A tunnel maybe twelve feet long rushed out in a wave of searing blue glow, curving upward and breaking the surface. A gush of cold air and blindingly pure light slammed him in the face and took his breath away.</p><p>Daylight.</p><p>Hope burned bright inside of him. Someone was bound to hear the noise, but if he smoothed out the snow up top, he could draw a circle and cover it up before they had time to figure it out.</p><p>Because why would they rush to see what a chained, crippled kid was up to?</p><p>The wolves slipped from their den below the stairs, all eyes staring curiously at the tunnel he'd made. He didn't spare them a second glance. He just started crawling, dragging his injured body up the sloped tunnel and to freedom.</p><p>He went as fast as he could, his broken ribs protesting almost as much as his swollen knee and abused shoulder port. He was in no condition to hike anywhere in the snow, and he knew that. He was relatively certain he barely had enough body fat to support basic bodily functions anymore, much less keep him insulated for any stretch of time. His bare foot would get frostbite within a few hours, and he'd succumb to hypothermia before dawn.</p><p>He knew all of these things, but he knew that dying in the snow was better than dying in that basement. He'd take his chances with the wilderness.</p><p>The air was freezing, icy wind biting into his bare flesh like teeth, and when he finally made it out of the tunnel, it was almost unbearable.</p><p>But it was the most exhilarating sensation he'd ever experienced.</p><p>The sky was clear and blue, quickly turning to navy as the sun went down behind the mountains. Snow blanketed everything, at least three feet deep, and for miles, all he could see where trees and mountains. A glance behind him revealed the stone house, dark and nondescript with a few vehicles parked out front.</p><p>The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. He quickly turned, smoothing out a section of the snow and sketching a hasty circle in the white powder. The tunnel closed up behind him and he staggered to his feet, heading for the woods.</p><p>Before he even crossed the clearing, he heard shouts behind him. He didn't look back.</p><p>He increased his speed to an awkward half-lope, but his body was injured and off-balanced and the air was stinging his lungs. He'd already lost most of the sensation in his bare foot, and the broken automail leg was starting to stiffen, the antifreeze in its tubes drained out when they'd stabbed the wiring with a knife.</p><p>He prayed, begging that he would somehow get away and make it back and see his little brother, and Winry, and even that stupid Colonel. He wanted to get Al's body back, and be at the Rockbell's for Christmas, and turn in his sloppy report to Mustang.</p><p>He wanted to go home.</p><p>Footsteps pounded the snow behind him.</p><p>He ran harder. They got closer.</p><p>Then his frozen foot slipped and the automail one was too slow to catch him. He went down hard, his body falling into the icy snow.</p><p>It was all over.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>
  <em>Edward? Ed? Roy, he's not snapping out of it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fullmetal, come on!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>XxXxX</em>
</p><p>They strapped him down and argued for a while on the other side of the closed door. Someone said something about not permanently injuring him. Someone said he had to be kept alive. Someone proposed that they incapacitate him with the least physical damage possible.</p><p>Then they strapped his head down. Cold, cruel hands held his eyes wide-open. He fought, but no matter what he did, he couldn't move. They laughed at him and jeered and mocked him. One held a dropper over his face. Yellowish fluid splashed against his eye, and he couldn't thrash enough to keep them from easily dripping it into the other one.</p><p>His eyes were on fire and he screamed.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>
  <em>Fullmetal!</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He came to slowly, his body chiming in with a round of complaints and pains. Some were easy to ignore, others weren't. For instance, his eyes felt like they were melting in his head.</p><p>He finally wrested himself away from the clutches of unconsciousness, opening his eyes with some trouble. They hurt, like someone had raked their nails across both of them, and they were encrusted with matter, slick liquid coating their edges. He brought up his hand to feel them.</p><p>He couldn't see his hand.</p><p>On second thought, he couldn't see <em>anything</em>.</p><p>His heart slid up to his throat and stopped.</p><p>He couldn't see anything.</p><p>
  <em>He couldn't see. </em>
</p><p>His chest heaved up and down in shallow, panicked breaths as icy fear made his stomach clench. He felt like he was spinning, his body off-balance and floating in the dark despite the solid ground beneath him. It was a disarming sense of vertigo he couldn't explain. The cold seeped from the stone floor into his very bones and he stopped moving, straining his ears to listen. Maybe he had made some mistake. Maybe this was just someplace very dark. The basement was always dark, but maybe the light filtering through the crack underneath the door was blocked somehow. That had to be it, because the alternative was unthinkable.</p><p>He forced his breathing to calm, because panicking would get him nowhere. He had to think.</p><p>Something shifted in the darkness off to his left, like claws sliding over stone.</p><p>He immediately struggled to sit up, his body straining pathetically at the simple action. His muscles had atrophied so much from so little food and his inability to move much, and he had to roll onto his stomach to push himself up with his only arm. It shook with exertion under his thin body. The chain attached to his neck clinked with the movement.</p><p>Most likely still the basement, then.</p><p>The light was just blocked, though. It had to be.</p><p>He finally made it back on his haunches, his body quivering with the effort. He tried to quieten his panting and listen, but he didn't hear anything else in the blackness.</p><p>His whole body ached terribly, and he wondered how long he had been out. If he thought about it, he was starving, though the thought of food filled him with revulsion. After . . . after <em>that</em>. His lips were parched, though, and that was something he had the power to fix. He felt along beside him before his hand grazed the smooth metal of the water bowl. It was big, and he wished he had another hand to steady it with as he lifted it up to his cracked lips with some difficulty. The stale water was frigid going down, dissipating some of the last vestiges of warmth in his body, but it took some of the discomfort in his throat away. A few rivulets caused by his shaking hand slid down the side of his neck and down his bare chest, causing gooseflesh in their wake. He put the dish back down against the wall where he could find it easier in the dark.</p><p>Footsteps thumped through the house above, drawing closer.</p><p>He wasn't ready. Not again, <em>not again. </em>He pressed himself against the wall, slowly easing his injued body as far as his chain would allow to the corner.</p><p>The door swung open on grating hinges.</p><p>No light flooded the basement. Nothing seared his eyes or made them water. No images of cruel Drachmen greeted him. Nothing.</p><p>Footsteps approached. Maybe there were two or three of them, but he was having trouble hearing over his pounding heart.</p><p>"Well, how are we feeling this morning?" the Interrogator asked in his strangely accented voice.</p><p>Steps kept approaching, heavy and foreboding. Ed didn't answer, pressing back against the wall in a pathetic attempt to protect himself. Their steps were so sure, like it wasn't pitch-black all around them. Like he was the only one in the dark.</p><p>Ed had never been more terrified.</p><p>"Nothing to say?" the Interrogator asked mildly from his perch on the steps, his booted feet scraping the stone as he shifted. "No smart-mouthed remarks? Maybe you're finally starting to understand your place, little alchemist."</p><p>Ed wasn't paying him much attention. The other footsteps stopped right in front of him and he slowly wrapped his hand around his throat. That's what the wolves and the Drachmen always went for.</p><p>The steps stopped on either side of him and his whole body tensed, waiting for the blow. Why were they just standing there? Anxiety made a tight knot form in his empty stomach and his breathing felt tight and impossible.</p><p>He couldn't see. Sight was knowing and anticipation and preparation, but he couldn't <em>see.</em></p><p>His heart raced, nausea gripping him and he forgot to breathe.</p><p>What were they doing? They were going to hit him, he knew it, and he would have absolutely no warning.</p><p>He could make no move to protect himself when a booted foot buried itself in his side, making his entire body alight with pain. He bit back a cry as another blow fell on his swollen knee and while he curled to protect it, another hit his lower back and he gasped.</p><p>"Look at that," the deep voice of Borsk chuckled from his left. "Blind as a bat."</p><p>No, no, not blind. Not blind, anything but that. <em>Anything.</em></p><p>"I'm confident that this will deter any other escape attempts, don't you think, boy?" the Interrogator asked. "Borsk, take Tessa and get him cleaned up. He's filthy."</p><p>The two pairs of steps shuffled off, presumably to get the hose at the top of the steps.</p><p>"I'll be seeing you later this evening," the Interrogator promised. "I'm still very curious about this 'Operation Firefight.'"</p><p>The Interrogator's steps faded away as the hose whispered over the stone floor and water hissed.</p><p>Ed could do nothing to shield himself from the freezing spray.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>He didn't want to die.</p><p>He didn't really want to live right now, either.</p><p>Ed curled up against the wall, terrified of the sounds he was hearing. Those wolves, those<em> cursed </em>animals, were roaming just past his reach, soft paws whispering on the hard floor as they passed him. They'd been hovering closer and closer, as if sensing he was now more helpless than ever. They were growing bolder, attacking him any time he let his guard down. He wasn't sure when the last time was that he'd slept more than in a light dose.</p><p>The realization that he was actually considering letting them kill him had surprised him at first, but after the past few days (weeks? Or was it mere hours. . .) he wasn't so surprised anymore.</p><p>He hurt everywhere. He didn't know it was possible to feel so much pain from so many places all at once. His shoulder port had received the worst abuse just a few hours ago. They'd attached some sort of battery to the metal workings, then flipped a switch and Ed had to redefine his concept of agony for the fourth time since his imprisonment began.</p><p>His shoulder still sent off pain signals at random, the artificial nerves shorting and communicating wave after wave of fiery pain to his real nerves.</p><p>Then there were his other injuries. His flesh knee was still swollen, and the Interrogator seemed to delight in twisting the injured limb from time to time to keep him conscious. His knife wounds were adding up, a few now riddling the tops of his thighs in addition to his sides. He had a few cracked ribs and his flesh hand was still swollen. They'd even put fire to the backs of his legs.</p><p>He'd begged. Ed had never been more ashamed or degraded in his life, but it had hurt <em>so much</em>, and he'd begged them to stop it with pained tears rolling down his face.</p><p>They'd only laughed at him.</p><p>He couldn't go through with it again. He <em>couldn't.</em> Everything was so much worse now, magnified a thousand times by his blindness. It was a horrible, twisted new world filled with humiliations and fears he had never experienced before. He felt the pain clearer, the fear hotter, the despair more intensely than he had thought possible.</p><p>He didn't want to leave Alphonse, but surely he would understand? Surely he would find it in his heart to, if not forgive, then to acknowledge that Ed had tried his best. That Ed didn't want to go back on his promise, but that he'd had no choice . . . no choice.</p><p>"Just like that? You're just going to quit?"</p><p>Ed startled badly at the voice, his body half-way sitting up before he realized who had spoken. The movement had been excruciating, and with a harsh, pained hiss, Ed settled his head back to the cold stone, taking a few moments to breathe through the pain before he could speak. "Where've you been?" he asked weakly, voice rasping from his raw throat like dry scales. He was too hurt to sit up again. Everything hurt.</p><p>"Maybe you should ask yourself that," Mustang's voice said over his head. "This is your subconscious, after all."</p><p>"I haven't seen . . . I haven't <em>heard</em> you in days," Ed said. He hadn't heard from any of them in days. He'd hallucinated Alphonse and Winry once, but that could have been a dream. He even hallucinated his mother, but he hurt too much to even talk to her, so she just sat beside him, ghostly fingers stroking his hair until a wolf came and tried to tear off Ed's arm. Mustang had visited him the most, but Ed wasn't sure what to make of that. Maybe it was because it was easier to keep up his fleeting facade of bravado with him. With anyone else, he just wanted to cry and apologize. Something about Mustang always made him doubt his resolve to quit, like stoking a fire that had all but died. But a fire couldn't last indefinitely without fuel. "I was beginning to think you'd left."</p><p>"I'm not going anywhere until you're sane again," the colonel said. The way he said it made it sound like it was meant to be reassuring.</p><p>"How fitting . . . You finally drove me crazy," Ed said, smirking faintly at his own joke before it became too much trouble to maintain the expression.</p><p>"I'm only here because you're already crazy," Mustang sniffed indignantly. "There's a difference."</p><p>Ed didn't reply for a moment, his jaw tired from just the short conversation. "You planning on . . .sticking around a while?"</p><p>"Just as long as you let me," he replied simply. Ed heard a sound like someone settling beside him, but there was no sensation of heat or that faint thrum of life living things had. It was all in his head. Still, someone there, even a ghost, was better than being alone. It was a welcomed distraction, even if it was tangible proof that he was losing his mind. "So, what's all this nonsense about quitting?"</p><p>Ed didn't want to have this conversation. Not with Mustang, even if he was only a figment of Ed's fracturing mind.</p><p>"Hey, it's <em>your</em> subconscious," Mustang said. "You don't like the course of conversation, you only have yourself to blame."</p><p>If Ed had more strength, he might have frowned. "We're changing subjects . . . talk to me about . . . Alphonse. How is he?"</p><p>"Fullmetal, you know that I know just as much about what's going on outside this basement as you do. I don't have any way of knowing what he's up to."</p><p>"I'm creative. Make up something," Ed offered. He wanted to hear good things. He wanted something to take his mind far away from this place. He wanted his little brother.</p><p>Heck, he would even settle for the real Mustang right about now.</p><p>"I heard that, shrimp."</p><p>"Not short," Ed said, but the denial sounded hollow even to his own ears. His height wasn't something he could bring himself to care about at the moment. Besides, he didn't have the energy to speak in full sentences, much less lecture his imagination for double-crossing him. "Alphonse?" he pressed.</p><p>"Well, judging by the water running down the north wall and the draft currents, I'd say Alphonse is probably out in North City looking for you."</p><p>"No one likes . . . a smart-aleck."</p><p>"So, what's all this about quitting?" Mustang asked again.</p><p>He might have glared if he'd had the capability. "I thought I . . . said drop it."</p><p>"Well, you did. But as the voice of your subconscious, that's what's eating you right now. So, let's talk about it."</p><p>"Scary . . . Voice of my . . . subconscious is <em>you</em>," Ed panted. He was getting too exhausted to speak.</p><p>"You know I can just read your mind, right?" Mustang pointed out wryly.</p><p>Ed stopped. '<em>Well, guess that makes sense.'</em></p><p>"Now that you're finished stalling, talk," the colonel ordered, voice firm.</p><p>"I . . ." He closed his mouth<em>. 'You see where I'm at. You see what they've done. I'm going to die in this pit, so it may as well be on my terms.'</em></p><p>"What about Alphonse? What about Miss Rockbell and that old lady Pinako?" Mustang asked, the barest traces of anger marring his smooth voice. "What about the team? You're just going to quit and leave everyone behind?"</p><p>Ed winced. <em>'It's not like that. I've waited . . . how long have I waited? No one's coming for me. Have all of you given up? I guess this place is out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you can't find it, or maybe I'm presumed dead, but either way, I can't . . . Colonel, I can't go through anymore.' </em>If Ed had been less dehydrated and had more energy, he might have cried. It was too much. He couldn't go through another round of questioning. He couldn't.</p><p>"You know better than that, Fullmetal," Mustang said sternly, almost fiercely. The heat of it startled Ed for a moment. "We're looking. We are, you just have to give us some more time. Don't make me have to bring you to Al in a body bag."</p><p><em>'I thought you said you didn't know what was going on outside anymore than I did,' </em>Ed pointed out.</p><p>"But <em>you</em> know. You know us. You know Alphonse and I and the whole team won't stop until we find you."</p><p>
  <em>'Maybe . . . but maybe it would be better if you didn't. Maybe it's best if I die. I don't want you to see me like this . . . Even if I do get out of here, they took my eyes. How can I possibly face Alphonse like this? I promised him, but even if by some miracle I make it out of here, I can't get his body back like this.'</em>
</p><p>"You know we won't think any less of you."</p><p>Ed didn't respond. He wasn't sure how to. He knew he was only arguing with himself, and Mustang was just some ethereal representation of the part of him that wasn't quite ready to give up, but somewhere in his mind, Ed felt that Mustang's view was wrong.</p><p>He was so tired . . . scared and tired and losing hope.</p><p>"We'll find you, Ed. Just sit tight."</p><p>Footsteps thumped overhead and Ed's heart suddenly hammered in his ears. They couldn't be coming, not so soon . . .</p><p>
  <em>'Mustang?'</em>
</p><p>No response.</p><p>"Mustang!" he rasped.</p><p>The door creaked open. Mustang was gone.</p><p>Ed squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for an end to this nightmare.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy felt ill. Physically, horribly ill.</p><p>He cradled the boy's sleeping body in his arms. The drug Silas had injected him with had put him to sleep almost immediately, and his terrible gibbering and sobbing had finally subsided. Despite being asleep, Roy could still see his eyes twitching underneath his lids. Was he seeing dreams or nightmares? Really, the answer was obvious by the pinched look on his face, but Roy hoped.</p><p>He wanted so badly to forget everything he had just heard. He wanted to go back and take Ed's place, to protect him, to save him. It was Roy's fault, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.</p><p>Roy felt their eyes watching, all of them glued on the bundle in Roy's arms. He hadn't been able to put Ed to bed. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of leaving him alone right now seemed like abandonment. It was stupid, but Roy couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He just stroked the boy's hair and tried to keep it together.</p><p>"Do you think . . ." Havoc began, trailing off as he tried to come up with the words. "Do you think they intended for Ed to actually <em>eat</em> Bearden?"</p><p>The silence thickened.</p><p>"Maybe it was just a convenient way to destroy the body," Hawkeye suggested quietly, her voice strained. Roy recognized the desperation underneath her calm. "It's plausible. There was wildlife in that basement. Let the wolves destroy the corpse, then dump it. We wouldn't have been able to link the two without Ed's testimony. We wouldn't even have realized Bearden was murdered."</p><p>Roy hoped so with every fiber of his being, because surely no one was that cruel. But whether they meant it or not, they had implied it. Regardless of their intentions, that sort of psychological trauma would break a man in days. And a child? Well, even someone as strong as Ed wouldn't last long.</p><p>Was that what all of his eating problems had been about? Did they all stem back to this? Ed had inhaled food the first few days he was back, but it was as if the day his body wasn't in immediate danger of starvation, he couldn't find it in him to stomach any more than the bare minimum.</p><p>It made too much sense. Edward, the boy with the voracious appetite that loved food as much as anyone Roy had ever seen, now could barely tolerate the stuff.</p><p>Ed was right. Everything he had been was destroyed, and there wasn't much left. How was Roy supposed to put back a puzzle with missing pieces? How did you repair a broken vase when half the glass was gone?</p><p>"Roy," Hawkeye said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Roy looked up. He saw his lost expression reflected back at him in her sherry eyes, but her voice was hard, her expression firm. She'd gotten control of herself. "It's already in the past, and Ed's been dealing with it on his own for weeks now. Just because you know now doesn't give you an excuse to fall apart."</p><p>He inhaled a tight breath through his nose then slowly released it. She was right. She always was. He couldn't fall apart, not now.</p><p>"What do you think will happen, James?" Roy asked, trying to put something besides emptiness into his voice. "When he wakes up."</p><p>Silas looked up, his sharp blue eyes burning like he'd been thinking hard about something. Slowly they softened as he processed Roy's question. "It's hard to say . . . this isn't my field of expertise. Maybe he'll wake up the same as any other day. Maybe he'll have forgotten everything, which might be a blessing. Maybe he'll wake up and won't snap out of it. The mind is a fragile, complicated thing. There's no way to tell at this point."</p><p>Roy nodded, eyes moving to Ed's pallid face. How did he manage to look even smaller when he was asleep?</p><p>"Maybe you shouldn't be so close to him," Hawkeye suggested softly.</p><p>"I can't . . ." Roy began, unsure how to express his need to hold the child, to protect him the only way he possibly could at this point. Some deep, paternal instinct demanded that he not let him go, not when he was so vulnerable.</p><p>"You're sick, sir. His system is delicate right now."</p><p>"A cold could kill him in the state he's in," Silas said solemnly.</p><p>Roy hoped his face didn't twist in pain like his heart did. They were right.</p><p>With unreasonable reluctance, Roy stood up and turned, setting the fragile bundle down on the sofa. The boy subconsciously curled his body at the loss of warmth, his face becoming distressed. Something wrenched in Roy's gut. He brushed the boy's sweat-soaked bangs from his face.</p><p>"When was the last time he showered?" Silas asked.</p><p>"It's been a few days," Roy responded. Just one of the many things that was simply too hard on Ed to make him endure on a regular basis. Roy wasn't sure how Alphonse had managed it.</p><p>"I'll go take care of it," Silas offered. "Jean, would you mind giving me a hand?"</p><p>It took Havoc a moment to respond. "Sure thing, Doc," he said, coming over to lift the boy off the sofa. He slid an arm underneath Ed's head and knees and lifted him like he weighed nothing. He didn't weigh much more than that, Roy supposed.</p><p>"Wait," Roy said, putting a hand on Havoc's forearm. The word had escaped his lips before he knew what he was saying. Ed wouldn't want Havoc there. He would be angry and embarrassed if he ever found out one of his colleagues had helped him bathe.</p><p>Hawkeye put her hand on his shoulder in a restraining motion, squeezing it gently.</p><p>Roy let out a long sigh and released Havoc. The man looked back at him, blue eyes uncertain. Then he turned and followed Silas up the stairs.</p><p>"He's necessary to keep Ed from drowning," Hawkeye said. "I'm sure Ed will understand."</p><p>Roy ran his hand through his own sweaty hair. "What am I going to do? I can't take care of him like this!" Without Ed as a distraction, he suddenly became keenly aware of a chill sweeping his frame as his body gradually fell victim to whatever illness had invaded it. If he couldn't be around Ed, how could he possibly take care of him?</p><p>"Someone will spend the night here," she said, her voice calm, the opposite of the frustration in his. "Havoc can help you take care of him until you're better."</p><p>Roy massaged his eyes, dropping his body heavily to the sofa. "Ed's terrified when he wakes up. Havoc won't know what to do."</p><p>"He'll manage," she said, sitting next to him. "He's not incompetent."</p><p>"I know that, it's just . . . his alchemy teacher is in town. She'll be dropping by tomorrow, and I'm the one that'll need to look competent. She doesn't seem like the understanding type." A tired smile pulled at his face as he remembered the fierce teacher. "I think I may have finally met a woman scarier than you."</p><p>"Even when I'm pointing my gun at you?"</p><p>"Even then."</p><p>"I should meet her. Maybe she has advice on making lazy colonels do their paperwork."</p><p>He suppressed a shiver that didn't have anything to do with fever. "Forget becoming Fuhrer. It has become my new goal in life to keep <em>that</em> from ever happening."</p><p>Hawkeye smiled, then sobered. "She can't blame you for being sick. Did Ed take her visit well?"</p><p>"Surprisingly so," Roy confirmed, squelching that annoying jealous feeling at the memory.</p><p>"Then maybe it's a good thing," she said. "Maybe she could help you out while she's here."</p><p>"She's only staying another day, I think. And it's not like Ed could go stay with her. He's not well enough for travel." Roy wondered absently if the kid would ever be able to trust people enough to leave his house ever again.</p><p>"We'll think of something," she promised. "You need to focus on getting better right now."</p><p>That wasn't at all what he needed to focus on right now, but telling her that would get him nowhere.</p><p>"Go get cleaned up and get some sleep, sir," she said. "We'll take care of things here tonight."</p><p>He looked up at her through a veil of fingers. "And just what are you planning? Are we having a slumber party at my house?"</p><p>"For all intents and purposes," she responded, getting to her feet and heading to his kitchen. "Go."</p><p>He grumbled about bossy subordinates for her benefit as he picked his aching body up off the sofa. He still wasn't sure what Hawkeye's intentions were, but honestly, he was too tired to care. He climbed the stairs with heavy feet, feeling weary and numb. His mind wondered back to the debriefing, to Ed's disturbing recounting of some of the horrors he had experienced.</p><p>As he passed the closed bathroom door, he paused. He could hear the quiet sloshing of water and Silas' tenor voice murmuring something, but no sounds of alarm, no indication that Ed was awake for any of it.</p><p>Something gnawing at the back of his mind had him knocking before he could think twice about it.</p><p>Havoc opened the door a crack, a wall of humid air hitting Roy in the face. Seeing that it was Roy and not Hawkeye, Havoc opened it a little wider. "Sir?"</p><p>Roy wasn't sure what to say. "He wakes up a lot. Nightmares. He needs someone he knows to calm him down. Just . . . get me if he wakes up, okay?"</p><p>Havoc gave him a small smile. "I promise if he wakes up before morning and we can't get him calmed down that I will come and get you. Go get some sleep, Chief. You look terrible."</p><p>Roy gave him a flat look. More bossy subordinates. Roy didn't argue, though. He nodded and turned away, headed down the rest of the hallway and to his room. He cracked the door so he could hear what was going on outside, and barely managed to kick his shoes off before he collapsed face-down into his comforter.</p><p>He waited there a long, tired moment before summoning the energy to worm his way under the covers, burrowing in them up to his nose. It was freezing in his house, or maybe it was just the fever finally starting to wear him down. How long had it been since he'd slept in his own bed? How long had it been since he'd lain comfortably and not in some odd, propped up position with Ed's automail digging into his side? Admittedly, it felt good to lie down, to be comfortable and warm and not worried about being awakened by someone else's nightmares instead of his own.</p><p>But that was a selfish thought. He'd done this to Ed. A little pain and discomfort was the very least Roy deserved.</p><p>With his guilt and self-loathing for company, it didn't take long for him to drift off into a restless, fevered sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy's first conscious thought was that his head was going to split open.</p><p>He cracked an eye, blearily surveying the weak winter light filtering through his window. Clouds obscured the sky outside, and snowflakes flew past the glass, whisked away by brisk winds. Havoc must have been right about that blizzard. His room seemed unreasonably cold and he suppressed a shiver, pulling the comforter up and around him.</p><p>His entire body hurt, his head fuzzy and aching liked it'd been stuffed full of cotton. He couldn't breathe through his nose at all, and his eyes felt puffy. His limbs felt stiff and sore, and his sheets were soaked with sweat.</p><p>He felt like he'd been hit by a bus. He was almost tempted to close his eyes and go back to sleep.</p><p>Images of Ed, face twisted in torment and eyes wide with fear, greeted him when he tried.</p><p>Images of his body, alight with Roy's flames.</p><p>Roy opened his eyes and dragged his weary body out of bed. The movement seemed to set the room spinning, and he had to wait a moment before stepping forward. No one had disturbed him during the night, to his knowledge. He wondered if Ed was supposed to be awake, or maybe Silas had given the boy a fairly strong tranquilizer. Or perhaps, by some miracle, he had awakened and Havoc managed to get him calm after all?</p><p>Roy stumbled through his morning routine, conscientious of the fact that he'd had guests spend the night. He took a shower that didn't seem hot enough, took care of basic hygiene, then tried to shave three days' worth of stubble without getting a good look at his own eyes.</p><p>He caught a glimpse of them, anyway. They looked tired and sunken, like they belonged on a man thrice Roy's age, lined with worry and guilt and glassy with a fever that hadn't broken. He made a discontented noise in the back of his throat and looked away.</p><p>He staggered from his room on heavy feet, peeking through Ed's open door to see the room vacant. The bed was empty, the blond nowhere to be seen. The bathroom door was open, too, so he couldn't be there.</p><p>Roy caught the murmurings of quiet voices coming from the floor below and headed downstairs.</p><p>As he descended the steps, his eyes fell on Ed. The boy was curled up on the sofa, his head pillowed in Havoc's lap. The older man was reading a newspaper aloud, but it didn't look like Ed was listening. His eyes were open, the bleached, pale gold looking distant and lost. The blanket was gone from his tiny frame and he shivered in only a set of winter sleepwear borrowed from Roy, the long sleeves and pants rolled up to accommodate his shorter limbs.</p><p>Havoc looked up when Roy entered, his gaze turning cautious. "Hey, Chief," he greeted quietly, folding the paper over his unoccupied knee. "You sleep well?"</p><p>"Where's his blanket?" Roy demanded, ignoring Havoc's greeting. Didn't he realize the kid needed that thing? It was vital for his peace of mind, and besides that, it was freezing!</p><p>"Hawkeye's got it in the wash," Havoc informed, stiffening a bit at Roy's tone. Admittedly, it hadn't been exactly laden with kindness and understanding. "The thing was nasty, Colonel."</p><p>He looked up, trying to see into the kitchen. "Hawkeye's still here?" He had hoped she would stay, but he hadn't been holding his breath.</p><p>"Yeah, Silas, too."</p><p>Well, who <em>didn't</em> spend the night?</p><p>Roy's eyes fell back down to Edward. He hadn't moved, didn't stir.</p><p>"Fullmetal?" Roy asked, a thrill of apprehension rolling through his gut. Why wasn't he answering?</p><p>"He's . . . he's not really snapping out of it," Havoc said, his voice tentative as he patted Ed's arm, like he wasn't sure what else to do. The boy didn't react. "He didn't move all night long. This morning Silas suggested we get him out of bed, you know, follow his usual routine, but when we picked him up and started moving him around he . . . well, he started thrashing and. . . and crying, I guess, then he opened his eyes and just stopped. He's been like this since then. He's just . . . not responding."</p><p>Roy had a terrible, sickening suspicion, but he wasn't sure. He wanted badly for it to be because of the tranquilizer. He wanted it to be something physical, something that could be put back together with medicine or treatments. Something he could fix.</p><p>Because an awful, gnawing feeling in the corner of his gut told Roy that he had finally pushed Ed's mind over the edge, and this might be the time he wasn't coming back.</p><p>Roy stepped around the sofa and headed for the kitchen. If the room weren't so tediously balanced, he might have stomped there with some authority, but any sudden movement seemed to send the room reeling. He found Hawkeye folding laundry on the kitchen island, her own clothing rumpled from sleep. Her hair had been roughly combed back, most likely by her slim fingers, and her sherry eyes were shadowed and tired, but they met his with a surprising amount of irritation. "Colonel, what are you doing up?" she demanded.</p><p>He scowled. "You're not my mother, Hawkeye." Only after he said it did he realize the statement made him sound like some petulant child. He covered it up with a glare. "Where's Silas?"</p><p>A shaggy head of auburn hair peeked out from over the counter, coming out with a couple of pans. "Yes?" he asked pleasantly, his mood seemingly restored to its typical cheeriness.</p><p>"Why isn't he waking up?" Roy demanded. He tried to stalk up to the smaller man, but he swerved when his hip clipped the island and had to catch himself on the countertop with a muttered curse.</p><p>"Sir, sit down before you fall down," Hawkeye ordered, coming up beside him and taking his arm firmly. He didn't have much choice as she hauled him to the kitchen table and deposited him on the nearest chair.</p><p>He really wished she wouldn't undermine his authority in front of other people. "I'm fine, Hawkeye."</p><p>She put a cold hand to his forehead and he shivered at the touch. "You're burning up. You shouldn't be out of bed. Doctor, would you mind?" she asked, gesturing to Roy. "I'll start on breakfast."</p><p>"Of course!" Silas said brightly, relinquishing the cookware to her and grabbing his medical bag from the kitchen table. "So tell me, what hurts?"</p><p>Roy caught his wrist. Silas looked a bit startled, halting in his action of rummaging through the bag to look Roy in the eye. "Why isn't he waking up?" Roy asked again, his voice coming out much more ragged and much more urgent than he had intended, his controlled, authoritative mask slipping just a bit. He was getting tired of being brushed off and ignored when he needed to know.</p><p>Hawkeye had stopped moving, the kitchen now silent save for Havoc's faint murmurings in the room next door.</p><p>Maybe it was the underlying desperation in Roy's voice, or the fear he was sure was there, but the cheer in Silas' eyes dissipated, replaced with a sort of weariness that Roy hadn't seen there before. It frightened him, to see the man with the hope and the optimism looking so grim. Silas looked down at his bag and Roy slowly released his arm. "Roy, I've told you before that this isn't my field of expertise," he said quietly. "You've got an MD doing the job of a psychiatrist, but I do know some things.</p><p>"Edward's gone through a lot . . . more than we could probably begin to understand. The trauma he relived last night . . . he's been blocking it from his mind, but we just forced him to unbury it. You don't bounce back from that, Roy. Experiences like that . . . they've driven lesser men completely mad. His mind is trying to protect itself, and I suspect this catatonic state is a byproduct of that. I can't tell you if the tranquilizer helped it along, but I can tell you that, judging by what he told us and the state of mind he has been in before now, this was probably inevitable."</p><p>Roy's throat closed up, an awful, sickening dread rolling through his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak. "Will—" he choked, took a breath. "When will he wake up?"</p><p>Silas shook his head. "No way to know."</p><p>Roy's gaze fell, unable to continue looking the man in the eye.</p><p>Roy's decisions every step of the way had brought Ed to this. And now, when he was supposed to finally be safe, Roy had put the final nail in his coffin. His hands closed into shaking fists.</p><p>He'd promised Alphonse he'd protect him.</p><p>He'd asked Ed to trust him.</p><p>What poor judgment. They hadn't even realized that they'd casted pearls before swine, charged a wolf to protect a lamb. That they would trust something so precious as Ed's wellbeing to a murderer was inconceivable.</p><p>And Roy had been too selfish to warn them.</p><p>A gentle hand on his shoulder made him open eyes he didn't realize he'd closed. Riza was there by his side, but Silas was nowhere to be seen. The sneaky little doctor had slipped out of the kitchen when he wasn't looking.</p><p>She gave him a smile that was warm, even if a little weak. "Stop it, sir."</p><p>He gave her a tired, weary sort of frown in question.</p><p>"For a second there, you gave up. Stop it."</p><p>A weak smile found its way to his own lips. "Using my own pep talks against me, Lieutenant?"</p><p>"I've heard it enough. I think I'm qualified to dish it out now."</p><p>He put his elbow on the table beside him, buried his face in his hand and took a deep breath. "What have I done, Hawkeye?" he murmured. He couldn't help but think he sounded pathetic. Not at all like a colonel of the Amestrian military, or a nationally acclaimed war hero. He sounded like a lost child.</p><p>"You're best," she replied simply. "You've done your best. If you're going to blame someone for what happened, then maybe you should be blaming me. It was my call, after all."</p><p>Roy shook his head. "I could have stopped you at any time. I'd never blame you for my own mistakes, Riza. I guess I was just hoping to finish this. We could just yank off the bandage and then we could move on to finding the scum who did this, and Ed could finally start healing."</p><p>She shook her head. "We have valuable information, on both the case and on the details of Ed's imprisonment. We have several leads to follow, and now we have information that will help us get Ed the treatment he needs. And who knows? Maybe when he wakes up, he'll be better than he was before just from talking about it."</p><p>He looked up to meet her eyes. "You really believe that, Riza?" he asked, sounding less sarcastic and more hopeful than he had intended.</p><p>"I believe that Ed is stronger than this. He wouldn't have survived as long as he did if he wasn't." Her gaze slipped to the window. The snow brushed the glass and the wind whistled past like a howling train. It sounded aching and mournful and frigid. "I'm not going to give up on him just because there's been a setback. And I think he would appreciate it if you didn't, either."</p><p>He shook his head. He wasn't giving up on Ed, but maybe . . . maybe he wasn't doing all he could fix this. Maybe there was something else to be done, something Roy had neglected or ignored. Something that would be best for Ed, even if neither of them liked it.</p><p>The chiming doorbell broke the silence. The Curtis' were here.</p><p>Roy swallowed back a sickened feeling that tasted a lot like failure and stumbled to the door, eyes lingering on Ed's lifeless form as he passed. He ignored the sympathetic looks Havoc and Silas were sending his way.</p><p>He reached the door, feeling like a man being led to the gallows as he twisted the knob and opened it.</p><p>Izumi wore her coat this time, bundled up against the foul weather that whipped snow past in thick flurries. Several inches had already accumulated off the front porch and Roy was faintly surprised that they had made it to his house in the blizzard. Sig stood behind her, their suitcases in his large hands and his face set in its perpetual glower.</p><p>Izumi brushed past him, stomping snow off on the rug and stripping from her coat as she did. Sig followed, taking her coat and hanging both by the door. "Where is he?" Izumi asked, barely sparing Roy and Hawkeye a glance as she ventured into the living room.</p><p>"Ah, more guests!" Silas exclaimed. "Should I put some tea on?"</p><p>Roy did not want to be around for the train wreck that was Izumi in closed quarters with Silas. "That sounds perfect," Roy assured him. "Hawkeye, Havoc?"</p><p>Hawkeye came behind Silas and ushered the babbling doctor into the kitchen with her. Havoc stood up carefully, situating Ed's head so it was resting on a throw pillow before giving Roy and the Curtises a worried glance and following.</p><p>Izumi locked her gaze on Edward, her dark eyes seeming to harden with realization as she took in his state. "What happened?"</p><p>Roy decided it was more dignified to sit than it was to collapse on the floor. He lowered his swaying body on the opposite sofa, Ed's golden head within arm's reach. "He finished his report last night. As he was giving us details on his imprisonment, he became distraught. He began to lash out, and to keep both himself and others from injury, Doctor Silas administered a tranquilizer. He was this way after he woke up this morning."</p><p>Her eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly. "You're ill. Have you been handling Edward this way?"</p><p>A bit put off by her perceptiveness, he shifted uncomfortably. "Of course not. I've kept away from him since I've developed obvious symptoms."</p><p>She approached Edward, leaning down in front of him so that she was eyelevel with him. She brushed his bangs from his face and stared hard, as if she were looking for something in his blank eyes. Apparently not liking what she found there, she frowned then stood up, gathering his slight body in her arms and sitting with him in her lap. Sig followed, sitting beside her and putting a large, protective arm around the pair.</p><p>"I told you we were going to talk, Mustang," she said, her voice low as if she were worried about disturbing the child in her arms.</p><p>Roy almost let out a short, cynical laugh. Just one more failure in a string of them, and now she was going to lecture him as if he didn't realize it.</p><p>She looked up at him, her gaze severe. "What were you thinking, sending a child by himself to Drachma?"</p><p>It was a question Roy had been anticipating and was prepared to answer. "I didn't have a choice. Those were the orders he had received from the Fuhrer himself."</p><p>"And you couldn't have done anything? You couldn't have sent someone with him? Not even Alphonse?"</p><p>He shook his head. "I can't discuss the specifics with you. Just know that the parameters of the mission would not have allowed for anyone else to accompany him."</p><p>Her lip curled in disgust. "So you would send a child to his death because you were ordered to? Is that right?"</p><p>Roy's fists tightened. What she was saying was cruel but true. He hadn't believed it to be dangerous enough to warrant disobeying orders and sending someone else along. He'd overestimated Ed, the little spitfire that always came back. He'd believed him to be invincible, just like everyone else. Just like Ed. He'd believed it enough to risk Ed's life on it and throw caution to the wind, and now he'd done it again, trusting that Ed would bounce back like he was supposed to.</p><p>When would they learn that the child wasn't invulnerable? When would Roy figure out that, no matter how strong he pretended to be, he was just a kid? A damaged, broken, blind kid that needed help that Roy couldn't seem to provide.</p><p>"If I had known this would happen, I would have gone in his stead," Roy said, his voice coming out weaker than he had planned, but he was able to meet her unrelenting gaze as he said it. He meant every word.</p><p>She seemed to regard him, the same way a wild animal regards a smaller one to see if they're suitable prey. Maybe she found his response acceptable, because she turned back to the boy in her arms. "He's too thin. Are you incapable even feeding him?"</p><p>A wave of nausea rolled through Roy's gut at the memory of just why Ed's appetite was probably so diminished. "He . . . he generally refuses food. There's not much to be done short of intubation."</p><p>"Then clearly you're doing something wrong," she said. "Edward doesn't turn down food."</p><p>"I assure you that we're doing all we can, Miss Curtis—"</p><p>"It's not enough!" she snapped, some emotion in her voice making it twist and break, but she didn't stop. "Look at him!" She shifted her arms slightly, Ed's upper body limply following the movement. "He's wasting away, and now he's unresponsive!" she snarled with all the rage of a mother bear. "What does it take for you to see that something isn't working? Whatever you're doing, <em>it isn't enough!"</em></p><p>"S-stop."</p><p>Roy stopped breathing. The room came to a complete still.</p><p>All eyes locked on Ed. The boy blinked owlishly, like just the simple movement was a great effort. His hand twitched, moving to wrap around Izumi's wrist in what could almost be called a weak grip. "Stop."</p><p>It was like all of the fire went out of her. The anger left in a rush, leaving nothing but a bereft woman grieving for a child she seemed to love like a son. A single tear traced down her jaw as she took a shuddering breath, her body slumping over the boy, holding him against her tightly. Ed didn't fight the movement at all, almost looking like he was unaware of it altogether. His eyes still held most of the distance they had that morning, but there was a small frown wrinkling his brow, and his flesh hand inched forward to hold Izumi's arm. Sig put a large hand on Edward's head and Izumi leaned against his shoulder, the makeshift family holding onto each other.</p><p>"Silas?" Roy called, trying to get his clumsy feet under him to stand. His relief was a palpable thing, something that made his voice weak and his knees even weaker. Ed was awake. He'd come back, even if only partly so. "Silas!" he tried again.</p><p>Silas appeared from the kitchen, his medical bag in his hands. Without preamble, he went over to the Curtises and knelt before them with a gentle smile. "I don't think we've met," he said to them, "but I'm Doctor James Silas, Ed's physician. Would you mind laying him out on the couch so I can have a look at him?"</p><p>Apparently Silas had some sort of charm that rivaled even Roy's, because instead of snarling some sort of response, Izumi only looked up at him, then let Sig lift Ed's near-lifeless body from her arms. They removed themselves from the sofa and stretched Ed out on it. The boy immediately curled up on his side, the hand that had previously held onto Izumi moving to hold his throat, face tightening with anxiety.</p><p>"Mus . . ." He stopped, breathed two or three times, tried again. "Mustang?"</p><p>Roy had to stop himself from lunging to the boy's side. "Right here, kid."</p><p>Ed's free hand flexed, as if searching for Roy's familiar sleeve and Roy felt his heart break. Something still wasn't right. He was awake, but it was as if everything were happening in slow motion for him, taking far too long to sink in. Even the act of speaking seemed too much effort, his mouth too tired to properly form the words.</p><p>Silas knelt beside the couch. "Hey, Ed, how are you feeling?" he asked, bringing out a clipboard and pen from his bag. "You know, you had a pretty rough night last night."</p><p>Ed made a grunting sound in the back of his throat, almost dismissive.</p><p>"Okay, I'm just going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them as best you can. Sounds manageable, right?" He slipped a blood pressure cuff around Ed's thin arm. Normally Ed hated the thing, but he didn't fight it this time as Silas strapped it in place and began pumping it with air. "First question: what's your name?"</p><p>He opened his mouth, but the words died before they sounded. He closed it, breathed for a moment before finally managing, "Edward . . . Elric."</p><p>"Fantastic! How many siblings do you have?" He penciled something in on his clipboard and removed the cuff.</p><p>"Al."</p><p>"Hard to forget about him, yes? Okay, who is the current Fuhrer of—"</p><p>Izumi stepped in front of Roy, blocking his view and distracting him from Silas' exam. "A word," she ordered, eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall.</p><p>Roy glanced back at Ed and Silas a moment before nodding and following her past Sig to the entryway.</p><p>She stopped at the door, her back rigid as she stared out the window at the weather howling past. Roy waited in silence for a moment before nerves got him. "Look—" he began.</p><p>"I don't know what those boys see in you, Mustang," she said lowly, almost too quiet for him to hear. "But for some reason, they trust you, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt this time." Izumi turned to face him, her eyes hard like stone. "Sig and I have to leave now before the trains stop running, but as soon as the shop is handled, I'm coming back. I expect to see improvement, or we will be looking into other arrangements. Do I make myself clear?"</p><p>Roy gave a weak nod, and after staring him down a moment longer, she stepped past him and back to the living room. He was left alone in the entryway, shivering and frail and helpless to do anything for Edward until the cursed illness passed.</p><p>Izumi was right, though. Something wasn't working, and Roy had to fix it.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>When Teacher had woken him up with her yelling, Ed had been dreaming.</p><p>Maybe it wasn't a dream, though. He wasn't too sure about the things that went on in his head anymore.</p><p>It was almost like being back at the Gate. Everything was white, except for flashes of memory that he somehow felt detached from, like watching a reenactment of the events. He would watch memories he had seen, hear the ones he didn't, and none of it hurt.</p><p>
  <em>None of it hurt.</em>
</p><p>He'd watched everything, seemingly watching his entire life. He saw Alphonse and his mother and the Rockbells. He saw his biggest mistake. He saw the Gate and Truth and Mustang's visit. He saw his automail surgery and his rehab and the years after that, no memory lasting more than a second, but he witnessed everything. He saw the basement, and he watched it without fear.</p><p>It wasn't the same as before, somehow. The memories didn't trigger that mind-numbing terror, that icy grip of fear. He felt almost numb, like the stark whiteness inside his head soothed everything.</p><p>Teacher's voice had jarred him from all of that, throwing him back into the present. The white peace faded to something foggy, tainted somehow by reality.</p><p>And then he heard her voice, yelling at Mustang . . . and, well, it wasn't Mustang's fault. He'd summoned up the energy to ask her to stop, but then they all left him alone with Silas.</p><p>But without distraction, that familiar fear was creeping back in, staining the white with black.</p><p>Ed decided it was almost like treading water, trying to stay above the black. His mind was a murky mess, punctuated only by the sporadic questions, the scribbling of Silas' pen on paper and Teacher's voice murmuring in the next room.</p><p>Now that he was more awake, he realized he was exhausted. It was like his body and mind wanted desperately to sleep, but he was too uneasy to manage it, too afraid to go to sleep for fear that the black would completely overcome the white he had somehow managed to find.</p><p>Too anxious to sleep, but too tired to do much else. Even shivering was too much for him, despite the chill that had settled in his bones.</p><p>"Ed?" Silas asked, his tone implying that he'd called him more than once.</p><p>Ed managed a small grunt in question, struggling to keep his eyes open, then immediately wondering what for. He let them close.</p><p>"I said that I think this is a side effect of the tranquilizer. I gave you a pretty strong one." He sounded both sheepish and concerned at the same time. "Possible side effects are increased anxiety, shortness of breath, confusion and insomnia, to name a few."</p><p>Well, that explained some things.</p><p>Ed frowned, but he was too tired to muster a response. They'd drugged him? Again? Mustang had promised it would be a last resort, so maybe he'd really gotten out of hand. He didn't really remember much of the actual debriefing. Just lots and lots of memories that he was doing everything to not think about. He didn't want the black to gain a foothold.</p><p>To distract himself, he mumbled a question he hoped Silas would understand. "Mustang?"</p><p>"He's having a conversation with that lovely lady . . . what was her name?"</p><p>Somewhere farther in front of him, a deep voice murmured in verification. Ed was too tired to manage a flinch from Sig's low voice, but his heart jumped a bit in his chest in a reflexive response. He'd almost forgotten the man was in the same room.</p><p>"Yes, Sig, that's right! Izumi," Silas agreed, his pen still moving over his paper. "Would you like me to send Roy in? He's sick, you know, so he can't be very close, but I'm sure he could sit nearby without too much trouble."</p><p>Ed hummed a confirmation. He wasn't too sure why, but he felt the need to know he was there, to feel his sleeve under his hand and to smell that familiar smell of earth and mesquite. He needed some sort of familiar comfort, something to put his mind at ease and get rid of the horrible sense of uncertainty he felt.</p><p>Mustang being sick, though . . . Ed had somehow missed the smell of illness on him entirely, but now that Silas had mentioned it, he could discern the faintest of scents in the house. It was as sharp as it was faint, sickening like the smell of singed wood and too-ripe fruit.</p><p>Guilt was a distracting enough emotion for him to entertain. He was good at that.</p><p>Ed knew that surely the only reason Mustang was sick was because of him. He'd worn himself ragged caring for some stupid, needy blind kid no one else could take. He wondered faintly if Mustang was regretting it all now. Ed wouldn't really blame him for it.</p><p>He heard footsteps enter the room. It took him a moment to know it was Izumi by the soft, balanced footfalls. She stopped in front of him for a moment, the before he could summon the energy to form a question, she moved into the dining room. Sig's heavy steps followed and he could hear quiet voices in the kitchen beyond.</p><p>Ed opened his eyes amidst his frown. Maybe she'd thought he was asleep?</p><p>"Hmm, odd," Silas commented, bringing Ed's mind back from its musings. "Well, guess we can just call him now, though, right? Roy!" he raised his voice just a bit, and Ed could hear the stumbling, staggering steps of the colonel. His brow pinched in concern. Just his footsteps sounded awful. Not at all the smooth, sweeping gait he usually managed.</p><p>"What is it?" Mustang asked, voice quivering the faintest bit. His voice sounded strained and thick, his illness evident to Ed's sensitive ears. How did he miss the signs? How could he be so self-absorbed that he didn't see Mustang's own suffering? The man's nightmares should have been the first red flag.</p><p>"He wants to talk to you!" Silas informed brightly. "Here, sit down, Roy. I'll go get Ed's blanket from Riza."</p><p>He heard Silas' light steps travel around the sofa and after Izumi and Sig.</p><p>Mustang shuffled forward, breathing heavy and ragged. He sank down into the end of the other sofa above Ed's head, close enough that Ed could stretch over the arm of his couch to reach him. He wanted to reach out to Mustang, to grab his sleeve and get rid of the nauseating floating sensation he felt, but something about raising his arm away from his body felt too exposed. He held his own throat instead and tried to breathe steady breathes. He didn't want Mustang to have to worry about him, especially when he was in such bad shape himself.</p><p>"Hey, kid. How are you feeling?" Mustang asked, low voice even lower with his sickness.</p><p>"Fine. Silas says it's just the tranquilizer," he explained slowly.</p><p>He could almost hear the frown in Mustang's voice. "Side effects?"</p><p>Ed managed a small nod.</p><p>Footsteps returned. "Here we go! I'll just put your blanket on top of you," Silas said, air and softness brushing over Ed and a familiar, insulating warmth fell over him. His hand immediately grasped the corner and he pulled it close to his face. It smelled like soap and felt clean. Had they washed it?</p><p>Was it stupid that he missed the comforting scent it had held before of oil and iron?</p><p>He suddenly, acutely found himself missing Alphonse.</p><p>But still, it was his blanket. It felt the same, moved the same. It covered his body like a shield and his thoughts became a little less muddled, like closing the door to better hear a conversation. Some of the anxiousness bled away and he was able to relax just a bit.</p><p>Silas' steps faded away again and Mustang didn't speak for a while.</p><p>"Did you get what you needed?" Ed asked, the short sentence leaving him breathless. Stupid tranquilizer.</p><p>It took Mustang a moment to realize what he was talking about. "Yes. We got everything we needed," he finally said. "You did well, Ed."</p><p>It felt like someone had just picked up a weight from his chest.</p><p>It was over. That much was over.</p><p>Mustang coughed, sounding thick and unhealthy, momentarily distracting Ed from his relief and making guilt twist his insides.</p><p>"You okay?" Ed asked softly.</p><p>Mustang shifted in his seat. "It's just a cold," he choked. "Nothing to worry about. I'll be better by tomorrow." He paused. "Are you . . . are you okay?"</p><p>"Fine—"</p><p>"Don't lie to me."</p><p>Ed swallowed. Blanket or no, that wasn't something he wanted to focus on. No telling how his volatile mind would react to dwelling. "Don't want to think about it."</p><p>He heard shifting fabric, like Mustang was nodding. "Okay."</p><p>Another question burned in his mind, something he suddenly wondered. He'd asked something similar before, but he needed to know again. Things had changed, maybe for the better. It was too early to tell, but just something in the air felt different. He wanted to know if Mustang felt it, too.</p><p>"Do you think . . . it'll be better now?"</p><p>More silence, like the question had caught Mustang by surprise. "It's . . . it's hard to say—"</p><p>"Don't lie to me."</p><p>He could hear the faint smirk in the man's voice. "Well, you woke up. The fact that you're alright makes it better now. Though if you keep scaring me like this, I'm going to have a heart attack."</p><p>If Ed's mind were less fuzzy, he might have come back with something witty about Mustang being old. As it was, he settled for a smile. "Sorry."</p><p>"Just . . . just keep coming back, alright?"</p><p>Ed closed his eyes again. "Right."</p><p>He couldn't help the way the smile stayed fixed on his lips.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hawkeye gave him a calculating stare. "You're sure, sir?"</p><p>Roy sighed from his position sprawled on the couch. Ed was resting on the other one, buried under his blanket with eyes shut. Roy knew he was awake, though. Ever since Izumi and Sig had left that morning, Edward had been despondent. He wasn't exactly as depressed as he'd been only the day before, but he was definitely affected by the Curtis' departure in a negative manner.</p><p>Silas had prescribed Roy some medication, but since Roy's fever had broken, he'd cleared him to return to his duties as Ed's caretaker. With one more problem solved, Havoc had taken Silas home, leaving Hawkeye the only guest in the house.</p><p>And now she was debating whether or not Roy and Ed could be left to their own devices.</p><p>"Hawkeye, we'll be fine," Roy insisted, voice warped and muted by his congested nasal passages. He honestly felt a lot better now that the cursed fever was gone. His headache was still present, and the cold itself was annoying, but after some medication and a few cups of hot tea, he felt much more functional and capable of caring for himself and Edward, even if he was a bit exhausted.</p><p>Hawkeye didn't look convinced, but she buttoned her coat around herself and put her messenger bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."</p><p>Roy's gaze flattened. "Not if this weather persists. Anymore snow—"</p><p>"It stopped snowing hours ago."</p><p>Roy scowled. "I don't need to be babied, Hawkeye. You've got your own business to take care of."</p><p>She didn't look impressed. "Yes, sir. I'll see you at eighteen-hundred tomorrow." And without waiting for Roy to reply, she disappeared around the corner. Roy heard the door open, then close and the lock click in place.</p><p>He caught the barest of smiles on Ed's face.</p><p>"Wipe that smirk off your face, Fullmetal," he growled irritably. What good was it to have subordinates that didn't follow orders? And then she just goes and flaunts that fact in front of Ed. The woman was infuriating.</p><p>Ed's smirk only broadened, eyes sliding open. "Yes, sir," he mocked.</p><p>Roy glared then leaned back on the sofa. His body still ached, so it was nice to stretch out. "You seem to be feeling better."</p><p>"Now that the stupid tranquilizer's wearing off," he clarified. He'd been on the sofa most of the day, only bothering to get up when Izumi and Sig were leaving. Apparently whatever drug Silas had used on him had zapped most of his energy.</p><p>"You hungry?"</p><p>Ed's expression closed, almost becoming distant. "No thanks." Izumi had tried her luck at getting him to eat a sandwich, but Ed had flat refused it with a sickened expression. She finally managed to force some sautéed vegetables and rice down his throat—the most Roy had seen him eat since he'd found out Alphonse was leaving—but he seemed to be unable to stomach the idea of eating any more. Roy was pleased to see him eat that, though, so he wasn't planning on pushing his luck.</p><p>"Well, I'm going to go make myself something," he announced. Now if he could just work up the will to get off the couch . . .</p><p>Ed frowned. "Um . . . are you sure you should be doing that? Silas said that you needed to take it easy."</p><p>Roy rolled his eyes before realizing Ed couldn't see it. "I'm making a sandwich, not a five course meal. I think I can manage."Ed ducked his head, a blush heating his cheeks. Roy smirked. "Don't you start mothering me too, Fullmetal. I get enough of that from Hawkeye."</p><p>Ed mumbled something that might have been a reply, but Roy missed it. He dragged himself to his feet, then into the kitchen, head pounding with the sudden shift in blood pressure. He gave the coffee pot a longing glance before pouring himself another cup of tea from the steaming kettle. Silas had insisted he forego vast amounts of caffeine while he was sick, and Hawkeye threatened to shoot him if she caught him with it. They didn't understand that caffeine had the ability to make him feel almost human.</p><p>He sighed and sipped the decaffeinated black tea, the watery taste unsatisfying and the ginger burning his sinuses as he set the cup down and rummaged through the refrigerator.</p><p>From the living room, there was a creak of wood then a few tentative notes played at the same time rang softly in the air.</p><p>Roy smiled to himself. He ate his meal over the sink like any other bachelor, and after cleaning up after himself, went back to the living room and sprawled across the sofa.</p><p>Ed's playing only halted momentarily, then resumed when Roy had stopped moving. Roy took the opportunity to study his back. It was rare that Ed showed his back to anyone these days.</p><p>The tension was mostly gone from his shoulders, hands no longer clutching the blanket with anxious intensity, but rolling over the keys in passages and phrases he'd somehow committed to memory since the last time he'd touched the ivories. It was the same tune as last time, but more elaborate and with more direction. The melody was quiet and comforting, like one of the records Roy listened to while working in his lab. "Where did you learn to play piano?" Roy asked.</p><p>Ed's tempo slowed, but he played past the interruption. "I never learned," he replied absently, playing a chord that made Roy's congested sinuses buzz painfully until it resolved a moment later. The bass flowed underneath, moving in a rolling, hypnotic walk.</p><p>The kid had only been in front of a piano for maybe a total of an hour and already he had improved leaps and bounds from when he had begun. Not that Roy had ever doubted it, but this proved that Ed was a genus to be able to figure out an instrument so quickly. Roy had heard that the very intelligent were musically gifted, and it seemed that Ed fit the stereotype. It was amazing what a little music would do for him. . .</p><p>Roy sat up quite suddenly, eyes widening.</p><p>He was such an <em>idiot.</em></p><p>He barely noticed Ed had stopped, head turned over his shoulder to listen uncertainly at the sudden movement. "Mustang?"</p><p>Roy got to his feet, hurrying over to the basement door and throwing it open. He didn't bother flipping on the lights, guided only by memory and the faint shaft of light filtering in from above. He found what he was looking for, gathering it up in his arms before making his way back up out of the basement.</p><p>"Door," Roy said absently, kicking the door shut behind him. It wouldn't do to have Ed fall through a door he'd never been through.</p><p>With the advanced warning, Ed only jumped a bit, his ears tracking Roy as he took his cumbersome burden upstairs. He shouldered his way into Ed's bedroom and put it down on the nightstand, checking to make sure everything was connected properly.</p><p>Then he went back downstairs, finding Ed almost to the bottom step. Ed froze when Roy rounded the corner. "Mustang, what's going on?"</p><p>"You haven't had a decent night's sleep in months. Go to bed."</p><p>Ed frowned. "What? I mean . . . I just woke up, and I've been out of it all day—"</p><p>"I have a theory I need to test, and you're the perfect test subject. Go to bed."</p><p>Ed seemed to be struggling to assess Roy's sanity, his brow lowered in a bemused frown. Apparently he decided that Roy was still somewhat trustworthy because he gathered the blanket around him before taking some tentative steps forward.</p><p>Roy reached the bottom of the stairs and took his elbow, receiving a minimal flinch in response.</p><p>"I'm starting to think your cold is affecting your brain, Mustang," Ed commented as Roy practically dragged him up the stairs.</p><p>Roy couldn't keep the grin off of his face. This was going to work, and then maybe they'd both get a decent night's sleep. "Maybe so. But I think I may have just had a brilliant idea."</p><p>"By whose standards?" Ed asked, stumbling a bit on the landing.</p><p>Roy steadied him. "I think you'll be impressed. Just hurry up. I'm exhausted, and once the adrenaline wears off, I'm going to slip into a coma and not wake up until next week."</p><p>Ed grimaced a bit, and Roy wondered what it was about, but dismissed it as they passed the bathroom. "Here, I'll get your nightclothes." He left Ed there to get ready, fetching his freshly laundered sleepwear and handing it off to him.</p><p>Fifteen minutes later he had Ed tucked in bed as Roy fiddled with the device on the nightstand.</p><p>Ed shifted uncomfortably under the covers. "Mustang, you're really starting to freak me out."</p><p>Normally Ed's anxiety made Roy shift into something over-protective and worrying, but Roy was hoping this would dispel his fears entirely as he slept and all but ignored the boy's discomfort. "Everything's fine, Ed, relax. Almost got it . . . there."</p><p>The turntable let out a squeak as the record started spinning. Ed froze where he was in response, eyes going wide until the needle met the vinyl and amidst the coughing static, a quiet piano solo began to play.</p><p>Ed's expression relaxed into something awed, the fear slowly leaking away until it was overrun by a sort of reverent curiosity. "Mustang," he breathed, hand releasing his throat. "What . . . is that a . . .?"</p><p>"It's a turntable."</p><p>"It's . . . Saen's work. It's a piano reduction of . . . some sort of concerto." He was speaking in a hushed voice, lulled by the quiet, rocking tempo. He listened intently, almost as absorbed as he had been while sitting at the piano just a while ago.</p><p>"Think it'll help?" Roy asked, unable to keep the smug smile from his face. It was refreshing to have been able to do something right for once, and Roy was going to savor the small victory.</p><p>A soft smile pulled at Ed's lips, distant but relaxed. "Yeah . . . it's . . . thank you, Mustang."</p><p>The smile flattened, then quivered, then fell with a sudden spring of tears.</p><p>Roy's expression slackened in shock before he was moving, sitting beside the boy and pulling him into his arms before either of them knew what he was doing. "Ed? Ed what's wrong?" he asked, trying vainly to force the alarm from his voice. Everything was <em>fine!</em> Why was he crying?!</p><p>Ed clung to the front of his shirt, body shaking with tight sobs. He breathed a few incomprehensible words then cried some more as Roy tried to comfort him and figure out <em>why.</em> "Ed, does something hurt? Do you need your medicine? You just took it, but I can call Silas. I've got some of that other stuff for when you have a lot of pain," Roy said, knowing he was babbling but unable to stop it. "Silas will know, let me call him . . ."</p><p>He tried to pry himself free of Ed to make the call, but Ed held on with a shake of his head. "Wait," Ed whispered, voice raw and broken as he tried to breathe between sobs. "Wait . . . I'm . . . m'fine."</p><p>"Edward, if something hurts, I need to know. I'll just call Silas. He'll know what we can do."</p><p>Ed shook his head in Roy's side. "No, it . . . d-doesn't really hurt." He took a few slow, broken inhalations, the sobs calming into the occasional sniffle and shaking breath.</p><p>"It's just . . . Mustang, you've done <em>so much,"</em> he whimpered into Roy's chest. "I don't deserve any of this, but you're helping me like . . . I don't know, Mustang, thank you. <em>Thank you,</em> I . . . if you weren't here, I don't know where I'd be right now." He gave a quick, shaky laugh. "Probably in some mental institution. Thanks for not giving up on me . . . I mean it, Mustang."</p><p>Sometime around the first 'thank you,' Mustang's heart had turned cold in his chest.</p><p>Ed was thanking him.</p><p>Thanking the one that had put him in that abysmal situation to begin with. Thanking the man that had caused all of this.</p><p>Roy felt sick.</p><p>Skin suddenly cold and the air thick, Roy pulled back from Ed. "It's no problem," he choked. "I'm glad it helps." He stood up, brushing his trousers free of invisible linens while Ed stared over his shoulder somewhat confusedly and . . . was that hurt Roy saw in his eyes?</p><p>Roy wanted to reach out and hug him again.</p><p>His guilt held him back.</p><p>"Well, I'll be back in a minute. Going to grab some stuff."</p><p>Roy tried to ignore the blind gaze boring into his soul as he left the room, the house suddenly feeling too hot and too cold. He absently wondered if his fever was back, but he knew it was just his conscience that was sick.</p><p>For the first time since Alphonse had left, Roy didn't hold Ed as he slept. Roy fell asleep on a pile of blankets on the ground, drifting off under the gentle notes of the record and Ed's uneasy stare.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>It seemed that Ed had slept relatively well. Roy only had to wake up twice in the night to physically quell the nightmares, holding the blond until the panic passed before retreating back to his makeshift pallet on the floor to the boy's fading whimpers. The other six times it was to reset the turntable, letting Ed sleep with a near-constant stream of music.</p><p>But he didn't seem to wake up as refreshed as Roy had hoped. Some of that old, nagging fear had returned to his gaze since the incident the previous night, but it was something pointed, directed at him in a way. Ed was cautious, more unwilling than usual to be helped with certain things. He ate his breakfast without verbal complaint, though it looked like a chore that required all of his effort to manage and he ended up looking a bit sickened afterward.</p><p>He asked if he could help with cleaning up the kitchen, which Roy found ridiculous, since he had never known where anything went anyway, and now that he was blind, even less so. Besides, he would have hated for the boy to drop a pan or a glass and be thrown back into a flashback after all the progress he'd made.</p><p>"Why don't you go play the piano?" Roy asked, scrubbing out a frying pan in the sink. He himself hadn't slept well at all. He was exhausted, sick, and angry with himself, and his ridiculous illness wasn't helping.</p><p>Ed rocked slowly, anxiously from foot to foot, indecision clearly on his features. "I can help . . . You're washing dishes, right? I can dry for you."</p><p>Roy knew that this had something to do with the last night, the way Roy had treated him. He was confused and hurt, but Roy would much prefer that over Ed's hatred.</p><p>He didn't know if he could stand Ed's hatred.</p><p>"It's fine, Ed. I've got it." Roy didn't mean to sound impatient, but the words came out that way. He tried to soften his tone. "It's not that big of a deal."</p><p>"I . . ." His gaze shifted to the floor. "You already do too much, and now you're sick. I understand that I'm a lot of trouble, so . . . I mean, I can help with some things. Not a lot, but I can handle drying some dishes."</p><p>Roy sighed. "Ed—"</p><p>He was cut off by the doorbell.</p><p>Ed almost jumped out of his skin, wrapping one hand around the blanket and using the other to find the wall.</p><p>"It's just the door," Roy explained, drying his hands off on a cup towel. "Hawkeye said she'd drop by today. Maybe she's just early. She thinks I'm helpless without her," he complained.</p><p>And maybe he was.</p><p>Ed followed at a much slower, more stumbling pace. By the time Roy had reached the door, he had managed to stop where the carpet met tile, hovering against the wall at the mouth of the entryway.</p><p>Roy pulled the door open, lips parted in an irritated complaint.</p><p>The words died on his lips as he took in the figure at the door. It was decidedly <em>not</em> Lieutenant Hawkeye.</p><p>Colonel Archer gave him an icy smile. "Good morning, Colonel."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Chapter 31</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Archer raised a single eyebrow, a serpentine smile splitting his face, apparently amused at finding Roy's disheveled, unkempt state. "Have I come at a bad time?"</p><p>Roy's surprise burned away in the wake of pure, unadulterated loathing. "I'm afraid so, Colonel Archer. Now, if you'll excuse me—"</p><p>"I'll make my inspection brief, then," he said, raising a paper to Roy's face. It only took a second for Roy to understand what it was.</p><p>A search warrant. The Fuhrer's seal glittered on the bottom, official as far as Roy could tell.</p><p>Archer pushed the document into his startled hands, shouldering past Roy and into the entryway. He stomped snow from his boots on the rug like any gentleman. "Rumor has it that you're housing a ward of the state. I came to investigate for myself."</p><p>"Ward of the state?" Roy demanded. "What are you talking about, Archer?"</p><p>The smile Archer turned on him was cold and smug and screamed of victory. "Why, Edward Elric, of course."</p><p>He turned his head, locking frigid blue eyes on Ed.</p><p>Edward froze in his place by the entryway. His eyes were widened, hands holding the blanket around him like a shield at his throat. "What are you talking about." It wasn't a question. It was more of a denial, his genius' brain running the gamut of possibilities faster than Roy's was, reaching some sort of horrible conclusion Roy hadn't grasped yet. <em>What was it?</em></p><p>"Ah, Elric," Archer purred, stalking closer to him, making some deep, paternal instinct in Roy's mind roar to life, and it was all he could do to smother it. He had to remain in control. Anything he did could be used against him and Ed. He needed a cool head now more than ever. "I thought I'd find you here."</p><p>"You've known he was here," Roy snapped, stepping between the two. He didn't like Archer's eyes on the child. He had the eyes of a monster. "What do you want?"</p><p>Archer eyed Ed over Roy's shoulder like one might a piece of meat. "Very simple, Colonel. In the military, Edward Elric was subordinate to you, making you his legal guardian." His smile widened and he locked eyes with Roy, a predator with its prey secured. "Now, he is no longer military, and he has no parents to speak of. This makes him a ward of the state. This child is state property now."</p><p>Roy's insides went cold, his heart and lungs stopping long enough for him to see red.</p><p>Terrible implications circled in his head, images and thoughts and fears all clamoring in his mind's eye like the waters of a turbulent sea; Ed locked away and forgotten, drugged and confused and all alone in some dusty wing of an institution for "troubled children." Ed being relinquished to psychiatrists and medication and blind and scared and out of his mind and far from Roy's reach.</p><p>No.</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>"Get out."</p><p>The words were soft and quiet. Roy wanted to scream them.</p><p>Archer frowned. "I have a warrant—"</p><p>"That's a warrant to search. You've searched. Now <em>get out."</em></p><p>Archer's gaze flattened, his head pulling back like an angry cat. "Very well, Colonel. I'll come back when I have the proper documentation. Don't worry, though. Edward will have a fine life at the orphanage. There's even a mental patient floor, should he need there services. I've heard he's had a particularly difficult time—"</p><p>"If you're not off my property in the next minute, I will kill you." There was no particular inflection the statement. Just a quiet, frozen promise.</p><p>Archer's smugness sobered almost instantly. "I'm sure General Hakuro will be interested to hear of the way you handled this. Your threats will not go ignored." And with that, he turned and left.</p><p>Roy slammed the door shut behind him, letting it rattle the frame and vent his fury. His fists quivered and rage searing through his veins.</p><p>They couldn't do this.</p><p>Not to Ed. Not after everything.</p><p>They <em>couldn't.</em></p><p>He took a few shuddery breathes, glancing at Edward as he tried to get himself under control.</p><p>Ed was gone.</p><p>Rage quickly converted into panic. Roy tore into the living room, eyes searching, looking for a flash of brilliant blond, a human figure, something, but Ed wasn't in the living room.</p><p>How long had Roy been standing there? He couldn't have gotten far! "Ed? <em>Edward, answer me!"</em></p><p>A thump sounded upstairs.</p><p>Roy took the steps two at a time, an irrational fear forcing urgency into his gait. He rounded the corner and stopped at the closed bathroom door. He tried the handle. It was locked.</p><p>"Edward, open this door right now." He tried to keep his voice calm, but it came out shaky and strangled.</p><p>There was no reply.</p><p>Roy dug in his pockets, coming out with a broken stub of chalk. He scratched a hasty circle on the wood and with a force of will and a flash of light, it clicked open.</p><p>Ed was curled up in the bathtub, the blanket completely obscuring him from view, but just the sight of the boy's form was enough to quell the frenzied panic that had bubbled up inside his chest. Roy wasn't sure what he was so afraid of, but he collapsed on the side of the tub and breathed in undeniable relief.</p><p>He watched the blanket move up and down with Ed's trembling breathes.</p><p>"Edward?"</p><p>The form flinched, but didn't respond.</p><p>He sighed, his heart rate finally levelling out into something normal. "Edward, it's going to be okay. We'll figure this out."</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"Ed, talk to me."</p><p>When he still received no response, Roy placed a tentative hand on the corner of the blanket and pulled it back.</p><p>Ed was staring ahead, face frozen in shock. Tears made glistening tracks down his face and his lips moved, some silent mantra that repeated over and over again that Roy couldn't make sense of.</p><p>"Edward," Roy breathed, brushing golden hair out of the boy's face. He flinched, which Roy found reassuring, but he kept right on mumbling. Roy leaned in close to hear, trying to catch a hint of what was going on in his tortured mind, but no breath passed over the boy's lips, just endless movement of half-formed thoughts.</p><p>What should he do? What was this . . . some sort of dissociative episode? Roy had seen him do something similar, but only when he was dealing with flashbacks and panic attacks on his own. Now it was like he was completely ignoring the outside world, retreating far into himself where not even Roy could reach him.</p><p>Not wanting to leave Ed alone, but not knowing what else to do, Roy decided he'd call Silas.</p><p>He made to get up, but a pale hand stopped him.</p><p>Roy glanced down at his wrist in surprise. Ed's flesh hand was wrapped around it, the feather light grip holding him in place as effectively as iron shackles. Roy looked to the boy's eyes, but they remained unchanged: still glued to the porcelain wall and blank, but his lips had stopped moving.</p><p>Roy carefully, gently lowered himself back to his seat. "Ed?" he asked softy, afraid of jarring him back into whatever trance he'd managed to escape.</p><p>Ed's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "I . . ." he whispered before taking a shallow breath. "I can't . . . I can't . . ."</p><p>"Edward, if you can hear me, tell me so."</p><p>Ed's hand tightened around Roy's wrist, then he gave a tiny, near-imperceptible nod.</p><p>"We'll figure this out, Ed. I promise we'll figure it out." Roy swallowed thickly, the words wanting to stick in his throat. "Do you trust me?"</p><p>Ed trembled, curled in on himself and around Roy's arm then squeezed his eyes shut and nodded once.</p><p>"I'm going to have to make some phone calls. Do you want to come?"</p><p>Again, the silent, desperate nod. Roy got to his feet, his arm still held captive in Ed's. When Ed didn't seem willing to separate or to follow by his own power, Roy gently scooped him up and held his shivering body against his chest. Ed flailed for only a moment before securing a grip on Roy's shirt. The boy weighed nothing, but Roy didn't want to take him downstairs to the scene of his most recent trauma. He carried him to Roy's own room, placing him on top of the comforter and against a pillow Roy hadn't used in over a week.</p><p>Ed curled in on himself, hands still gripping Roy's pale blue shirt, and as soon as Roy sat down at the edge of the bed, Ed folded himself so that his shoulder touched Roy's side, his flesh hand grabbing a more convenient fistful of Roy's sleeve while the other held his blanket to his neck.</p><p>Roy dialed the phone and put his free hand on Ed's blond head, patting down disheveled locks in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.</p><p>A secretary answered on the other end of the line. Roy gave her the proper code and soon his Lieutenant's voice reached him.</p><p>"Hawkeye, dinner at my place. Bring everyone."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed had known something was wrong.</p><p>He just couldn't figure out what.</p><p>When Mustang had started the turntable, Ed had been deeply moved. That Mustang would think of something like that, something so innocuous but with so much meaning . . . Ed was struck by just how much Mustang had actually done. It was a turning point for Ed, the day the flashbacks and panic attacks had eased just a bit, and life became just a little more bearable, and it was because of Mustang.</p><p>Because Mustang hadn't gone back on his promise.</p><p>Ed had made a fool of himself, though. Crying and clinging like some kind of toddler . . . if he'd been any more himself, he would have been unbearably humiliated by the display, but as of late, it wasn't terribly extreme for his behavior.</p><p>But then . . . Mustang had pushed him away. He'd barely spoken three sentences to him the rest of the evening. He'd slept on the floor, far from Ed's reach, like he couldn't stand to be near him anymore.</p><p>And Ed couldn't help but wonder what he'd done wrong. Or maybe . . . did Mustang see this as a sign of Ed's improvement?</p><p>Was he <em>finished</em> with Ed?</p><p>If he was finished . . . if this was as far as Mustang was going to take him, what now? Was everything over? Would he throw him out, send him away to fend for himself?</p><p>Ed knew that he was nowhere near ready for the outside world. He couldn't make it on his own, but maybe Mustang had reached his goal and was willing to go no further. If Mustang kicked him out . . .</p><p>Well, if Mustang kicked him out, sleeping would have been the least of his problems.</p><p>In a last desperate act, Ed had decided that he would do his best to not need Mustang's help for much of anything. He wanted to prove to Mustang that he could be less trouble, that Mustang could live his life with little interference from Ed. That Ed wouldn't always be a heavy burden.</p><p>Anything to not be kicked out.</p><p>And, if nothing else, it was good practice for having to somehow survive on his own until Alphonse came back.</p><p><em>If </em>Alphonse came back.</p><p>Those awful thoughts had chased through his head all night long, running through his head and haunting him even into sleep. When Ed had finally drifted off, he kept seeing himself in the basement while Alphonse and Mustang walked away.</p><p>Ed should never have trusted Mustang. He should never have let his guard down. Ed had suspected that this was all a ruse, something to either assuage Mustang's misplaced guilt or perhaps to meet some sort of Equivalent Exchange. Ed had known that once the scales were balanced, he would be sent away.</p><p>And now that it was happening, he would have done anything to stop it.</p><p>But as usual, it seemed that life had a way of yanking even the slimmest threads of hopes and dreams right out of Ed's hands.</p><p>Archer showed up. He showed up, and Ed recognized it for what it was: this was Mustang's chance. No one would question it if he gave Ed up to the orphanage. No one would even bat an eye. He had to follow the law, right? Upholding the law was his job. There was no reason for him to stick his neck out that far for Ed. No one would expect it of him, and no one would blame him.</p><p>And then Mustang could have the freedom he wanted, and Ed would be out of his way.</p><p>So Ed did the only thing he could think of to do: He locked himself in the bathroom and curled up in the bathtub, mind a numb haze of disbelief. How could this be happening? Things had been going so well. Ed was getting better! He <em>was</em>, how had this happened? How and why, and where was Alphonse?</p><p>He needed Alphonse. He needed him and he would give his other limbs just to have him beside him.</p><p>He was vaguely aware of the door being alchemically forced open and someone sitting on the tub wall over him. A deep baritone voice murmured something, maybe his name.</p><p>Ed wasn't really listening, though. He needed his little brother.</p><p>The voice spoke again, worried and thick, and Ed faintly thought that he should listen, should revel in not being alone now, because he was about to be shipped off to a padded room to live in solitude for the rest of his life.</p><p>But then the man moved, and Ed knew the man was Mustang, and before another conscious thought could form in his mind, Ed's hand shot out and grabbed him, locking around the older man's wrist.</p><p>After a long, terrifying pause in that Ed prayed Mustang wouldn't pull away and leave, he slowly lowered himself back down. "Ed?"</p><p>How could he explain? How could he explain anything? Any wrong word could send Mustang away for good, and it terrified Ed more than he could describe. He tried several times to speak, only to have his voice hide and fail him until he managed a faint sound. "I . . ." He couldn't explain. He couldn't. "I can't . . . I can't . . ."</p><p>Mustang shifted, like he was nervous or afraid or wanting to leave. Ed didn't want him to leave. "Edward, if you can hear me, tell me so."</p><p>Ed's grip tightened.</p><p>
  <em>Please don't leave. Please.</em>
</p><p>He couldn't speak, so he nodded.</p><p>"We'll figure this out, Ed. I promise we'll figure it out," Mustang said. "Do you trust me?"</p><p>He couldn't trust him, and yet his body betrayed him, curling around Mustang's arm with a small nod.</p><p>
  <em>Tell him what he wants to hear. Make him happy and he won't leave.</em>
</p><p>"I'm going to have to make some phone calls. Do you want to come?"</p><p>This time, all of Ed went into the nod, needing desperately to not be abandoned right now. Anything to not end up alone.</p><p>Because without sight, he was trapped in his head, and to be there alone was the worst nightmare Ed could think of.</p><p>Mustang moved, but Ed could not release him, hands locked around the older man's arm in a death grip. After some more shifting, Ed felt the older man slip his free hand underneath Ed's back, then pulled his arm free from Ed's grip to slide under his knees. Ed grabbed his shirt and held on tightly while Mustang carried him.</p><p>Ed didn't pay any attention to where they were going. Only when Mustang tried to set him down again did Ed find it in him to react, immediately grabbing whatever bit of Mustang's shirt he could find when the man tried to back away. Mustang sat beside him, and Ed soothed himself by holding onto both Mustang and his blanket.</p><p>Would that be all he was left with? Just his blanket to keep himself sane while the world placed him in a corner to rot away? Or maybe even that small comfort would be taken from him.</p><p>He knew he deserved it, knew that this was his punishment for flying too close to the sun.</p><p>It didn't make it easier.</p><p>Mustang spoke, but Ed couldn't listen anymore. He shivered and held on and cried silent tears and desperately wished for light.</p><p>But perhaps for a sinner such as himself, the dark was more fitting.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Chapter 32</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Ed, they'll be here any minute."</p><p>Ed didn't respond except to move across the sofa even closer to Roy, holding onto him even tighter, one hand wrapped around his sleeve and the other pinning his arm. Roy sighed, placing a hand on the boy's head to ruffle his hair gently.</p><p>It had been like this for hours, ever since Roy had made the call to Hawkeye and Silas' office. Ed hadn't said a word, only holding onto Roy like his life depended on it. Roy had carried him downstairs and set him down at the table in an attempt to get them both something to eat, but Ed had refused to release him. Roy had then proceeded to drag the despondent child around the kitchen, trying to scrounge together a meal while Ed held on to his shirt tails like a lost toddler.</p><p>It was heartbreaking to watch.</p><p>When Roy had finally managed lunch, Ed acted like he didn't even know food was there. He'd kept one hand on Roy and used the other to pillow his head on the table while Roy tried to eat his soup. Roy had found that he wasn't very hungry, either.</p><p>Roy had been unable to loosen the boy's grip on him the rest of the day, but now they were about to have company, and he really doubted that Ed would want the others to see him like this.</p><p>"Come on, Ed. You can either come with me to see everyone, or you can wait upstairs. It's your call, but you need to decide."</p><p>This seemed to be the wrong approach. The demand for a decision made the boy's eyes widen in realization, something aware sparking in their murky depths that had been absent since he'd locked himself in the bathroom. He'd only just realized what Roy had been trying to tell him: he either had to be with everyone or be by himself. Ed looked completely torn, his breaths becoming panicked. He buried his head into Roy's stomach and trembled.</p><p>"Ed," Roy said gently, rubbing the side of Ed's golden head. "Come on, Ed, it's okay. It's okay, just relax." Ed didn't seem to be listening, though. His breathing escalated into short gasps and he started moving his lips, eyes squeezing shut like he was having another panic attack. "Hey, hey, come on, Ed," Roy tried his best to soothe, pulling the boy into his arms and holding him close. The child's thin frame was light, but the automail shoulder bit into Roy's chest uncomfortably. Roy wasn't about to deny him this small comfort, though. Not unless Ed chose it. "Just breathe through it, alright? You know where you are. You're safe now. Nothing's going to happen."</p><p>The small body shook against his, tears suddenly sliding down his pallid face as he struggled with whatever terrors his mind was feeding him. Or maybe he was just struggling with staying and being subjected to the embarrassment of it, or being left alone after the shock of that morning. For him right now, it was perhaps an impossible decision.</p><p>"Edward," Roy whispered, holding the boy's head to his chest and rocking him back and forth as much as the couch allowed. "Edward, come on." Roy took a deep breath, trying to even the shakiness in it for Ed's sake. "You're okay. They're all here for you, you know that. You can stay. I won't make you leave. You know they won't hold it against you."</p><p>Ed continued to cry silently, seemingly unwilling to make a decision. Finally the doorbell rang, and Ed stiffened, pure terror shining in his blind eyes. Roy didn't know it was possible, but he clung even tighter, a small whimper making it past his previously silent lips.</p><p>Now Roy was the one that was torn. "Ed, I have to get the door. It's only Silas. You know Silas." Roy got up with the boy bundled in his arms, and Ed seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating, regardless of what Roy said. Roy quickly unlocked the door, then headed back into the living room before it could be opened, trying to get Ed as far away from anything that would increase his anxiety.</p><p>The door creaked open, letting in the dull moan of wind and tentative footsteps. "Roy?" Silas's voice called out. "Everything alright?"</p><p>"Hardly. Bring your bag," Roy ordered tersely.</p><p>The door shut then Silas appeared, still wearing his coat and looking mildly concerned, his smile muted like it was more of a reflex than conscious thought to keep it on his face anyway. "Hello, Ed, Roy! All that snow makes for a lovely walk, yes?" His eyes were locked on Ed as he approached, assessing and deciding something before he even reached them.</p><p>Roy sat down to give the man better access to his patient. Ed didn't release Roy, though Roy hadn't expected him to. Silas' nearness seemed to distress him rather than comfort, and Ed turned in Roy's arms to bury his head in Roy's chest, hiding his face as if he could escape Silas altogether.</p><p>"Oh, come on now, Edward," Silas said gently, the smile on his face as soft as his words. "Sorry I never exactly bring a good time, but my visits aren't that bad. I'm just going to check your pulse, alright? Oh, did I ever tell you how our polka festival went?" Silas slipped a hand between Roy's chest and Ed's wrist and Roy tried not to breathe too much while the man prattled on about some sort of music contest he'd apparently discussed with Ed before. The flow of the story seemed to relax Ed a bit, his grip on Roy loosening almost imperceptibly as Silas continued his tale. Apparently it wasn't enough, though. "Ah, bit elevated, isn't it?" Silas observed of his pulse, hand releasing Ed to rummage in his bag, coming out with a needle.</p><p>Roy couldn't say that he liked the idea of doping Ed up again, but he couldn't let the boy make himself sick like this.</p><p>"Okay, Ed, I'm going to give you something to relax you a bit. You're going to feel a small pinch, then it'll be over, alright?" Silas said aloud, deftly sliding the needle in and out of Ed's bicep before the boy could react.</p><p>And react he did. He bucked in Roy's arms, new panic making him cry out. <em>"Don't! Don't send me away</em> . <em>. . please . . . please, </em>Mustang," he sobbed, the words tumbling out like water from a dam, the desperation in them making Roy's heart shatter. "Please, no no no, don't send me away, I'll do <em>anything,"</em> his voice faded. "No . . . I don't want to wake up there . . . Mustang? Mustang—"</p><p>Did he honestly think Roy would just drug him so he could ship him off to some orphanage?</p><p>"Ed, I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise," he said, holding the boy tightly against him. "Have I ever broken a promise to you?"</p><p>"No—n-no," he whimpered, eyes sliding shut as the drug robbed him of his strength. "Please . . . let me stay . . . please . . ."</p><p>"You can stay. I promise."</p><p>Whether he was satisfied or just couldn't keep his eyes open, Roy wasn't sure, but the boy nodded off, the anxiety on his face and the grip he had on Roy's shirt the last to go.</p><p>Roy released a tremulous sigh, standing up with his bundle, but pausing before heading up the stairs.</p><p>It seemed wrong to just drop him off in his room and leave. Ed had all but attached himself to Roy's side since Archer's visit. What if he woke up on his own? What if he had nightmares?</p><p>What if he woke up and thought Roy had abandoned him?</p><p>"He should be fine on the sofa," Silas pointed out with a small smile, packing up his bag once again. "He might rest better with you close by. Tranquilizers help a lot of things, but sometimes the nightmares still get through."</p><p>Roy nodded, all too willing to keep the boy nearby. Just in case. He turned and placed him on the sofa, situating his blond head on a pillow and tucking his blanket around him.</p><p>"Jim," Roy said, brushing a few golden locks out of Ed's face. "Will you stay the evening? I'd appreciate it if you could be here when he wakes up."</p><p>The small doctor smiled knowingly. "Certainly. May I use your phone? Marcy's going to kill me for changing the hospital's scheduling again, but there are perks to being irreplaceable, eh?" he said with a grin, disappearing into the kitchen.</p><p>It didn't take much longer for Roy's team to arrive, trickling in with food and plans and expressions locked in varying degrees of concern to anger. Hawkeye would have already told them why they were there. Roy directed them to the living room, where they gathered around the coffee table and unpacked more Xingese takeout, all eyes inevitably landing on Ed's resting form in a pitying, worried way that Roy knew the boy would hate if he were aware of it. Roy just sat himself beside the sleeping child and tried to pretend nothing was out of place.</p><p>Finally, all that was missing were Armstrong and Havoc. Hawkeye informed him that Armstrong was in the field, and Fuery said that Havoc had been waiting on an important phone call and had said that they should start without him. After cheerily consuming Armstrong's portion of the meal, Silas disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Roy alone with Fallman, Breda, Fuery, Hawkeye and Ed's lifeless form.</p><p>"You all know why we're here," Roy began, twirling his fork in a bowl of noodles he didn't have the appetite to consume. "Archer will be back tomorrow. They'll take Ed away, lock him up and do who knows what to him. We can't let that happen." He turned to Fuery. "Did you bring the information?"</p><p>The smaller man put his half-finished meal aside and dug through his bag, pulling out several thick tomes. "Falman and I pulled everything we could find in the library. We cross checked it with Ed's records, and it turns out that everything Archer's doing is completely legal."</p><p>Falman leaned forward. "I called for Ed's records to be sent to us from Resembool, but it turns out that the village hasn't done the proper bookkeeping in years. The Elrics just sort of fell through the cracks. They had their neighbors that watched out for them while their mother was sick, then they left town so quickly after she died. No one asked questions and no one bothered to check. They don't have a legally appointed guardian. As far as the village is concerned, the Elrics were being cared for, so there was no reason to interfere. Alphonse isn't listed as dead or even missing."</p><p>"Okay," Roy acknowledged, mulling the information over as he set his uneaten food on the end table. "What are our options, then?"</p><p>"According to Amestris law, a minor must be in the care of a guardian or adult that is either blood, or appointed by the state. Otherwise, custody goes to the state," Hawkeye supplied, pushing a file into Roy's hands. "This details the process."</p><p>Roy nodded, eyes scanning the first page of the document. It was a mess of technical jargon and terminology and just looking at it reignited Roy's headache. "Have you read this?" he asked somewhat wearily.</p><p>"Sir," she responded, taking it back from him. She thumbed through it as she spoke, slim fingers sweeping over the pages as she did. "Basically, we have three options. The first is sit back and do nothing. Edward goes to an orphanage and that's that. Everything's out of our reach."</p><p>Just the thought made Roy sick. Ed by himself in a place like that . . . he didn't deserve that. "And the others?"</p><p>"The second is you apply for guardianship, but I'm not certain that would help here." She looked up from the files warily. "You would be responsible for him, yes, but there's a catch. Though you're responsible for him, the state can override any decision you make and you would have no legal protection."</p><p>"So, if Archer and whoever is pulling his strings wants Ed locked away in some mental hospital, it will happen," Roy answered darkly.</p><p>Hawkeye nodded, sherry eyes wary of his brooding anger. "Yes."</p><p>He brought up the heels of his hands to massage his eyes, hard enough to see stars when he pulled them away. "Alright, and what's number three?"</p><p>The four of them exchanged looks. Roy frowned. "What?"</p><p>Hawkeye closed the folder and met his eyes. "You adopt him."</p><p>Roy didn't feel as surprised as he thought should have felt. He didn't feel the denial, or the irritation or the helplessness he generally felt these days.</p><p>He just felt . . . numb.</p><p>"That's ridiculous, Hawkeye," he responded, wondering if his voice sounded as empty as he felt. "I have no right."</p><p>"Sir, do you really think that the state's going to give him over to anyone without a fight?" she pressed, something akin to urgency in her sherry eyes. "They would exclude almost everyone else the boy knows." She pulled out another set of manila files. "Izumi Curtis, though married, is chronically ill. Pinako Rockbell is an old woman now. None of us have homes of our own. You're the most likely to be accepted. As a hero of the war, you have clout that none of us has."</p><p>"I'm not a hero, Riza," Roy said softly. "Ed would never agree to it."</p><p>"He doesn't have to, sir," Hawkeye insisted. "This is for his own good."</p><p>Roy looked at the child again, cocooned in his blanket with distress lines creasing his forehead. He reached over to smooth them away with a calloused hand. "There has to be something else . . . something that will make him happy. He deserves to be happy." Roy wasn't sure where the words were coming from, spilling from his lips like water overflowing a cup. Maybe he was just tired of fighting it all. Or maybe he was ready to give up.</p><p>Regardless, this was not something he could do. He couldn't. Ed didn't deserve to have to put up with Roy's blunders for any extended period of time. He didn't deserve to endure Roy's failings and shortcomings.</p><p>And Roy certainly didn't deserve the kid. That something so precious would be permanently entrusted to him . . . it was unthinkable.</p><p>"Colonel," Breda said with a sigh. Roy looked up to see the larger man regarding him sternly over a pile of folders. "With all due respect, stop being an idiot."</p><p>Roy blinked. "Excuse me?"</p><p>The man looked at him like he was of the utmost stupidity. In fact, all of his gathered subordinates were. "Honestly, you're so dense sometimes. What, exactly, is the alternative? Letting Archer get him?"</p><p>Roy frowned. "That's hardly fair, Breda."</p><p>"It is what it is," Breda said dismissively. "The thing is, from what I've heard, he's only ever happy when you're right beside him. You honestly think he's going to pitch a fit if we attach some official labels? Give the brat some credit. He's smarter than that."</p><p>Roy felt his frown deepen. "I'm not going to make this decision for him." It was too much. Too much to think about, too much to consider.</p><p>"No matter how terrible of a father you'd make, you're infinitely better than what he'd get in the system," Breda said. Clearly with Havoc not present, he felt the need to toe the line in his stead. "So stop with your pathetic pity party and man up, <em>sir."</em></p><p>Roy had never been spoken to like this by Breda. The only ones that ever called him out like this to his face were Hawkeye and Havoc, but now Falman and even Feury were all but glaring at him, challenging him to refuse. Roy stared at them, some feeling starting to course through his gut. At first he thought it might be anger, the familiar burning melting away some of the icy numbness that had previously encased his heart.</p><p>Then he realized it was something that had been missing for a while now.</p><p>Fire.</p><p>Breda was right. He was absolutely right.</p><p>"You're right," Roy admitted slowly, eyes rising to meet theirs. He sounded surprised, even to himself, voice almost awed. What was wrong with him? Was he so selfish that he couldn't help but get wrapped up in himself? Had he lost all sense of perspective from being too close to this? Despite Roy's shortcomings and flaws, he was an infinitely better choice than Archer and a state orphanage. "You're right . . ."</p><p>"Of course we're right," Breda scoffed. "So just sign the stupid paperwork so we can get this underway."</p><p>"We won't have a lot of time tomorrow," Falman piped up, handing Roy a thick stack of papers and a pen. "My friend in the Child Services department can process our request that day to forestall any of Archer's attempts at getting to Ed, but if Archer gets here before the paperwork clears, we'll be sunk until the entire process is complete. And that assumes that Melinda can work a miracle and get her boss to sign off on the case tomorrow. Ed will have to disappear for a couple of days until his case worker calls off their dogs."</p><p>"Can she do it?" Roy pressed. If the case didn't go to just the right person at just the right time, Archer would cut them off at the pass, warn all the Child Services personnel of Roy's intentions—accurate or not—, then seal Ed's fate until a proper recourse could be attempted.</p><p>Falman offered Roy a smile. "She'll handle it. We've got nothing to worry about on her end."</p><p>"But that doesn't change the fact that Ed can't be in this house tomorrow," Hawkeye warned.</p><p>Roy blinked, eyes snapping up to meet hers. "What do you mean? We can't possibly move him."</p><p>"Think about it," Breda said, voice pitched lowly in an attempt to be soothing, but Roy felt anything but soothed. He felt almost panicked at the thought. "Archer will have a search warrant, and an official order to take Ed with him. He'll just walk in this house and take him, and there won't be a blasted thing you can do to stop him."</p><p>"It will just be for a day or two, sir," Fuery assured him. "Just long enough to make sure the paperwork has gone through."</p><p>They couldn't do that to Ed . . . moving him like that might very well destroy what little progress they had made. Without the consistency of his surroundings and the little comfort they brought, Roy couldn't imagine what it would to do Ed.</p><p>He stared down at the unconscious boy, torn. Both answers were wrong. There were no options that would be easy for Ed, but there was clearly one that would be right in the long run.</p><p>It just wouldn't be easy to take in the meantime.</p><p>"Where can I take him?" Roy asked softly, voice so diminished it was a wonder anyone heard him.</p><p>They each exchanged bewildered glances.</p><p>Roy frowned. "You can't suggest things like that and not have a plan."</p><p>"Havoc and I don't have room," Breda informed. "Falman and Fuery can't take him in the dorms, either. Hawkeye?"</p><p>The blonde woman shook her head. "Given recent discoveries, I think it would be unwise to keep him in a household with a dog. Besides, keeping him with one of us would be too risky. Ours will be the first places they look for him."</p><p>They all looked uncomfortable at that. "Yeah, you're probably right," Breda agreed.</p><p>"So what are we supposed to do?" Fuery asked meekly after a moment of silence.</p><p>"Well, I suppose there's no reason you both couldn't stay with me a day!"</p><p>Roy glanced over his shoulder to see Silas standing in the doorway, a cup in one hand and a dishtowel in the other, quickly polishing drops of water off of the glass. He all but skipped over to stand in the middle of the room, blue eyes bright. "Really, it's no trouble at all! I insist! Regina and I would be delighted to have you!"</p><p>Roy frowned. "Regina?"</p><p>Silas waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, she won't mind at all. She likes her home orderly, but I don't think she'd be opposed to the company. There won't be a problem!"</p><p>Roy looked at Ed. They didn't have much choice, he supposed, and if it came down to it, Ed could be kept under artificial sleep until Roy could get him back to more familiar surroundings.</p><p>The entire situation was deplorable, but there were simply no better options. With a tired sigh, Roy nodded. "Alright. I'll go pack our things."</p><p>Roy had just carefully settled Ed and moved to go up the stairs when the doorbell rang.</p><p>Wondering absently if it was more bad news, Roy briefly debated not answering it before dragging himself to the door and pulling it open.</p><p>Havoc grinned at him past his cigarette, cobalt eyes alight with excitement. "Sorry, Boss!" he apologized, shouldering past him. "I was waiting on a phone call, and I think you'll be very interested in finding out what about," he assured, flicking his smoldering cigarette butt into a snowdrift before shutting the door behind him.</p><p>"What is it?" Roy demanded, as he herded Havoc to the living room with everyone else, too tired and too anxious for games.</p><p>Havoc smiled, the expression equal parts proud and bitter somehow. "Did Armstrong ever tell you he was visiting the north?"</p><p>Roy shook his head. That hadn't been something the man had ever discussed with him, and since he wasn't directly in in Roy's chain of command, there would be little reason to inform him. "Well, he just sent word with some interesting news. General Armstrong caught one of them."</p><p>The room stilled, heads jerking up to regard Havoc with surprise.</p><p>A sort of numb shock settled in Roy's head, clouding his thoughts.</p><p>
  <em>They'd caught one.</em>
</p><p>One of the men that had done this to Ed. One of the men that was responsible for killing the spark in the blond brat, turning burning star into a desolate shell of a human. One of the men that had taken a boy whom Roy had sworn to protect and defaced him with cruelties too much for animals, much less children.</p><p>A man that had hurt one of Roy's own.</p><p>Finally, someone could <em>pay.</em></p><p>"His name?" The question was short and strangled by the cold fury suddenly constricting Roy's throat.</p><p>Havoc seemed to sense that something had changed. He shifted his stance, backing up a barely-noticeable half step. "Nicolai Vasovik," he responded hesitantly. "Armstrong said he'd have answers for you as soon as their interrogation yielded something—"</p><p><em>"No,"</em> he snapped, interrupting Havoc with the clipped order. "I want him. I want him in our interrogation room, and I want him there the day after tomorrow."</p><p>"Boss," Havoc began carefully, "Don't you think it would be best to—"</p><p>"What did I say, Lieutenant?!" Roy snapped. "The day after tomorrow!"</p><p>Havoc's eyes widened. "Yes, sir," he responded, the apprehension never leaving his gaze as Roy turned his back on him.</p><p>The rest of his team was standing behind him, giving him the same look Havoc did. Roy stopped short, then scowled at them. "You heard me. Whatever it takes, I want Vasovik, do you understand?" His eyes locked with Hawkeye's.</p><p>She looked back at him, the apprehension hardening into something colder and more pointed, as if she had made some sort of decision. "Yes, sir," she responded coolly.</p><p>Roy brushed aside the suspicion and irritation in favor of the pure loathing he found inside of him, pushing past his subordinates and Silas and heading upstairs to pack.</p><p>The next day would be long and trying, but with any luck, the following day would make it all worth it.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Chapter 33</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Here we are, home sweet home!" Silas exclaimed, knocking snow from his boots and holding the door wide enough to let Roy through with his burden.</p><p>Roy pulled Ed closer to him as he slipped inside, closing the door behind him with his hip.</p><p>"I'm home!" Silas called, walking into the living room. As he rounded a corner, possibly into a kitchen, Roy took the opportunity to study the home he and Ed would be stuck in for the next day or so.</p><p>The house was small, not at all what Roy had expected of a doctor. If he had to bet, he'd wager that the small man made more than he did, but that money certainly wasn't going toward his living conditions. The furniture was threadbare and mismatched, set over scarred, worn hardwood floors. Every available work surface was covered in books and files and papers, scattered about like a madman's decor. Closer inspection revealed them to be patient files, and Roy felt a small stab of guilt. Just how many other lives was Silas neglecting to come to their aid?</p><p>Despite the clutter and the piecemeal furniture, everything was surprisingly clean, in its own way. The books that weren't being used were filed away neatly on the shelves, the coffee table was clear of any dirty dishes and other signs of neglect, and the rugs looked freshly beaten. There was no more than a few days' worth of dust on the dozens of pictures lining the shelves and end tables.</p><p>All in all, Roy decided it was homey. He'd lived in much worse for much longer.</p><p>"Good evening, beautiful!" Silas exclaimed, from the kitchen, snapping Roy from his thoughts. He listened, but didn't hear any sort of reply from whomever he was speaking to. Probably Regina. "And how was your day? Oh, of course, of course! But let me introduce you to our guests!"</p><p>Silas entered the room again. Roy had expected him to bring in some small girl with wide eyes and too much shyness to speak.</p><p>He wasn't expecting . . . well, the feathers.</p><p>"Roy!" Silas beamed, holding one arm slightly extended in front of him. At his elbow perched a large white bird. It had to have been over thirteen inches tall, with large black eyes and a curved gray beak. It tilted its head, then leaned forward and bobbed up and down in some absurd sort of dance, the peach feathers on its head rising in the vague appearance of a headdress. "I want you to meet Regina! Regina, Roy."</p><p>"What is that?" Roy asked, hoping he didn't sound as repulsed as he felt. The last thing Ed needed was some sort of stupid parrot screeching.</p><p>"I told you, this is Regina! Isn't she simply gorgeous?" he said with a smile at his pet. "Well, then, go on! Say hello!"</p><p>Regina bobbed her head again and spoke in a warbled, grating voice, <em>"Hellooooo? Who goes there? Run, run, ruuuuun. Hello?"</em></p><p>"Ah, been listening to the radio, haven't you?" Silas asked. He grinned at Roy. "Sometimes I leave the radio on for her. She loves her murder mysteries. Now, I'm sure Ed's getting awfully heavy. Let me show you both to your room!"</p><p>Roy's legs almost buckled in relief. Ed didn't weigh much, but the automail added to his mass significantly, and Roy had been holding him for a while now. Roy would have been loath to admit that his arms were quivering the slightest bit. He was starting to get out of shape.</p><p>Silas set Regina on the back of a couch and headed down a short hallway. Roy eyed the bird suspiciously before following. "On this side, we have our first bedroom, which is where the both of you will be staying." Roy shoved past him, stepping into the small room and lowering Ed to the bed with shaking arms.</p><p>The room was nowhere near as cluttered as it had been in the living room, almost tidy by comparison. The bookshelf in the corner held a few titles, all ordered and standing neatly on a single shelf. A small desk sat under the window, chair tucked underneath and everything ordered nicely on its surface. The bed was fairly large and seemed comfortable enough.</p><p>Silas stepped up to the desk and switched the lamp on, then hurried to turn the bed covers down underneath Ed as best he could. "Well, what do you think?" he asked with a smile. "Not quite as fancy as your place, of course, but it's cozy."</p><p>"Yes," Roy agreed absently, helping Silas arrange the covers around Ed.</p><p>"I'll go and fetch your suitcases from the car," he said, turning and slipping out the door.</p><p>Roy sat down wearily beside Ed, sinking into the mattress with a heavy sigh. His eyes drifted over to the boy's still form, still wrapped in his blanket underneath the covers, blond locks splayed across the pillow. In the gentle lamplight, the fear that had been such a part of his features was finally muted, like fresh snow over a desolate landscape. He almost looked like a child again.</p><p>Roy ran a hand through his golden hair. It was late, and exhaustion was starting to make Roy's vision a bit fuzzy around the edges. It had been a long day, and though rage and the promise of finally getting his hands on one of Ed's captors had kept him going the past couple of hours, even that was starting to ebb a bit.</p><p>He kicked his boots off and propped his feet up on the bed, leaning back against the pillows on his side as he did. His eyes slipped shut a moment before opening and sliding back to Ed's sleeping face.</p><p>He sighed. "Well, kid, if anything goes as planned, I'm going to be a Dad."</p><p>Silence met the statement.</p><p>Funny. He'd always thought a declaration like that would merit more . . . excitement.</p><p>"To be honest, I'm scared of it," he said softly. "Of course, it doesn't have to be permanent. I know that. I guess we can call it all off as soon as this whole mess is over with. But still . . . it's a lot to take in, you know?"</p><p>The front door opened and shut, and Roy could hear Silas initiate a steady stream of unintelligible chatter, probably to his bird. He didn't reenter the bedroom though, so Roy turned his attention back to Ed.</p><p>"Yeah, I guess I'm just scared. A big coward. I'm not even sure why . . . will you hate me more, Ed? Will it make you despise me, for me to hold a title like that? You've always hated having to answer to me, but I've always tried to do my best by you. It hasn't been enough." He snorted, mouth twisting in a deranged imitation of a smile. "Yeah, this whole thing is proof enough of that, isn't it? I guess I can't help but let down the people that matter most.</p><p>"But all the same, I'm still trying." Roy rolled to his side, propping his upper body on an elbow as he watched his young charge sleep, his face only inches from Ed's own, as if in an attempt to reach Ed's unconscious mind with his words. "I honestly don't know what I'm doing here, and I won't always get it right, but trying has to be worth something, doesn't it?"</p><p>Roy sighed and rolled back over on his back, threading his hands on his stomach. "I wish I had more to give you. I wish at the very least I had the courage to admit to you why all of his happened . . . who's really at fault . . ." the words stalled and died and Roy pressed his lips together. "Yeah, I'm too much of a coward for that, too."</p><p>Roy rolled over to his other side, putting his back to the evidence of his biggest failure.</p><p>"Sorry, Ed."</p><p>Roy was only minutely aware of the small doctor that brought in their suitcases, and with a smile and a soft word, turned off the lamp and shut the door, leaving them alone in the night.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy woke up with a start, eyes flying wide and meeting an unfamiliar ceiling.</p><p>It took him several long seconds to realize he was in Silas' guest bedroom. Ed was still resting beside him, dead to the world as he had been the whole night. Come to think of it, Roy hadn't woken up once in the night. It was strange to wake up feeling like he'd actually slept.</p><p>With a yawn, Roy dropped his legs off the bed and sat up. He breathed deeply and was suddenly, acutely aware of the smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the house.</p><p>Roy tried to straighten out his wrinkled clothes and ran a hand through his disheveled hair before making his way into the kitchen. The light was on, but there was no sign of the doctor anywhere. On the table was a plate of bacon, toast, eggs and a note.</p><p>
  <em>Gone to the hospital: we had an emergency come through. I don't expect Ed to wake up until later in the day, but here's breakfast for you, and help yourself to anything you'd like!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-Jim</em>
</p><p>At the bottom was the hospital's number with his extension and a smiley face. Roy dropped the note back on the table, more than ready to tuck into breakfast, but movement caught his eye. He looked up to see a pair of dark, beady eyes watching him.</p><p>Roy frowned. "What are you looking at?" he demanded sourly.</p><p>Regina cocked her head to the side from inside her cage, the peachy crest of feathers on her head rising. <em>"Somebody call the doctor. Run, run, ruuuuun."</em></p><p>"You're not even making sense. Why would anyone want a noisy parrot for a pet?" he muttered, sitting down at the table and readily taking a bite out of his meal that had long gone cold.</p><p>The bird garbled another string of words that Roy couldn't decipher.</p><p>"Dogs. Those are much better pets," he informed. "They're loyal, and they don't talk back."</p><p>
  <em>"Want a peanut?"</em>
</p><p>"No," Roy responded, then stopped as realization hit him. "Why am I talking to you?"</p><p>The bird babbled softly to itself and turned away from Roy, as if sensing the dismissal. She climbed up the walls of her cage to destroy some brightly colored blocks of wood suspended at the top of her pen and proceeded to ignore him.</p><p>Roy massaged his head. "I'm losing it," he muttered to his plate. "There's no other explanation."</p><p>The phone rang. Roy nearly leapt out of his seat in surprise, hurriedly reaching behind him to answer it from its place on the countertop. The bird made a cackling sound that came across as vaguely mocking, but Roy ignored it. "Hello?" he greeted stiffly.</p><p>"Hey, they managed to catch the late train yesterday," came the casual reply on the other end of the line. "Your shipment will be here by seven this evening."</p><p>Roy stiffened, interested by the news and concerned that Breda felt the need to use one of their codes to convey it. It was one of their lighter ones, but it implied that the team was under some heat. Perhaps Archer was already starting to tighten the noose. Perhaps he had men hovering over his team even as they spoke. "That's wonderful!" he said, pitching his voice just a bit higher than normal. "I'll pick it up tonight. Are they expecting us?"</p><p>"Yes, of course," Breda responded. "Mostly Elaine, though." <em>Elaine</em> was their code for <em>Edward</em>. Ed would have killed Roy months ago if he'd known they'd given him a girl's name as code. "Say, stay out of trouble, alright? Maybe I can catch you after work."</p><p>"I'll be waiting."</p><p>Roy hung up, suddenly very awake and mind running a million miles a minute.</p><p>So, Vasovik was due to arrive that evening at six, not seven. Archer was looking for Edward, but Roy was still in the clear, though that couldn't be expected to last. One of his team would be by to give him a ride to Central Command when the coast was clear.</p><p>What Roy was particularly interested in was getting his hands on Vasovik. It was going to be a long afternoon.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy carefully situated an unconscious Ed on the couch. He was vaguely concerned that the boy hadn't awakened yet, but he supposed Silas had known what he was doing. Roy had taken the opportunity to give the kid a bath and get him into some fresh clothes while he was still under the influences of whatever cocktail Silas had injected him with. Things like that always went smoother when the boy was unconscious.</p><p>As Roy had been unfolding the boy's blanket on top of him, he heard the first rumble of thunder and groaned. Not <em>now,</em> of all times! He dropped the blanket and stepped over several medical journals to reach the window, pulling back the curtain to get a look outside.</p><p>The clouds had rolled in thick, heavy and blue over to the west. Even as he watched, lightening flashed somewhere inside them, growling and snarling softly as it echoed through the snow-covered city. Thunderstorms in the winter were not uncommon in Amestris, but they were by no means frequent. And this one couldn't have timed worse if it had tried.</p><p>Roy glanced over to Ed, hesitating. Breda would be there to pick him up in a few minutes. If Ed woke up here all alone with a storm coming in, there was no telling what damage it could do to him.</p><p>On the other hand, if Archer or anyone else got their hands on Vasovik before Roy did, Roy might never get his chance to beat some answers out of the dirtbag.</p><p>Roy ground his teeth together, glancing at the clock. Half past five. Surely Silas would be home any minute now? He wasn't even supposed to have gone into the hospital at all that day. And that aside, Ed had shown no signs of life in over fourteen hours. The drugs had lasted this long. Surely they would hold out two more hours. That was all Roy needed.</p><p>He could get the answers he needed in two hours.</p><p>The doorbell rang, jarring Roy from his thoughts. He hurried to the door, checking through the peephole before opening it up.</p><p>"Colonel," Breda greeted, dressed in his blues and bundled up in his greatcoat against the chill. "You ready to go?"</p><p>Roy spared Ed one final glance, as if Ed would wake up in that split second and decide it for him. But Ed didn't move, and anymore time wasted increased the chance that Ed would wake up alone. Roy shrugged on his own coat over a uniform he hadn't worn in weeks. "Ready," he informed, sliding out the front door and locking it behind him.</p><p>Breda watched him warily, as if looking for something. Roy turned and scowled at him. "What?"</p><p>"Is Silas here?" he asked slowly.</p><p>Roy felt his irritation double, but he had the presence of mind to understand that it wasn't directed at Breda. "No."</p><p>"You're just going to leave the kid alone like that?"</p><p>"He'll be fine," Roy snapped, feeling his anger writhe like a live thing inside of him. He was <em>so close</em> to getting his hands on the man that had done this to Ed, and thus the entire hive of those responsible. Finally, Ed would get justice. That was the whole point, right? That was the point of putting Ed through the debriefing, and all of the nightmares and holding a sobbing child so he could cry himself to sleep night after night. This was everything they'd been waiting for. Ed was about to receive justice.</p><p>So why did something inside of him feel just a little bit wrong?</p><p>He crushed that particular thought with logic: two hours, and he would be back and Ed would still be asleep and they would be that much closer to getting things back to normal. Two hours.</p><p>"Come on. Two hours, and we'll be back." Roy stomped through the snow, leaving the portly Lieutenant to follow behind.</p><p>The thunder snapped in the distance and a trace of doubt made Roy hesitate, eyes wondering back to the house for the briefest of moments. Then he steeled himself, turning and climbing into the car.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed suppressed a choked sob and tried again, voice faint and breaking. "Mustang?" he whimpered before something strong and terrible rumbled through the room, making his very chest vibrate, as well as glass and walls and sending something not far off shifting and sliding. It stole his confidence away, and he cowered where he was, his only comfort the blanket he buried himself in.</p><p>Ed had come to slowly, like dragging his consciousness through mud, and when he was alert enough to listen and process what was going on around him, he wished he hadn't awakened at all.</p><p>He was alone. He didn't know where he was and he didn't know what was happening, but no one would answer him.</p><p>He'd been abandoned.</p><p>Ed had known it would happen. He understood the inevitability like he understood the Laws of Equivalency.</p><p>Still, though, some part of him was shocked and hurt and so very betrayed by all of it.</p><p>The roar came again, and Ed nearly jumped out of his skin. He wished desperately that Mustang was beside him, explaining what all of it was, holding him close and being his eyes. He would give anything to have him there right now.</p><p>Why was it so loud? And where was he? This place didn't smell familiar. It smelled musty and old, like dusty carpet, the air somehow feeling sharp and dangerous, like in a storm. Was that what that sound was? Some kind of storm?</p><p>He jumped at another rumble. It made sense, though. The charge in the air, the crack and growl of thunder . . . that was it. Thunder.</p><p>Which explained the terrifying noise, but it did nothing to explain where he was.</p><p>Okay, this was no problem. He could figure this out. He didn't need eyes for this. He would find a phone, dial some numbers and figure it out from there.</p><p><em>Unless there isn't a phone,</em> an unhelpful part of his mind intoned.<em> Like they'd leave a phone in the personal quarters of a looney bin.</em></p><p>Ed hoped with every fiber of his being that that wasn't the case.</p><p>After another paralyzing roll of thunder, Ed finally breathed enough to settle his stomach. Holding tightly to his blanket, he sat up. It was easy to tell that he was on some sort of sofa, the back rising up on one side of him. He swung his legs over the end and got to shaky legs, then took a few tentative steps forward.</p><p>His metal shin clanked loudly against a low coffee table, or at least Ed assumed that was what it was. He shuffled around it, carefully easing is way forward. The best way to get out of a maze was to find a wall and follow it. It only reasoned that this applied to any other room.</p><p>The room felt small, his quick breathes echoing back to his sensitive ears sooner than they might in a bigger space. It was smaller than Mustang's living room, and after bumping into his third plush piece of furniture, Ed decided that this was probably a living room of some sort. His hand brushed over a hinge, then the cool metal of a doorknob. The front door?</p><p>Thunder snarled again and Ed fought the impulse to curl up on the ground and hide away under his blanket. He could do this. He just had to find a phone and make a call. He couldn't afford to lose his cool just because he didn't know where he was.</p><p>Except that last rumble of thunder sounded an awful lot like the growl of a wolf . . .</p><p><em>"Not now,"</em> he hissed to himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he inched forward. "Not now, not now." He didn't have time for flashbacks. He had to keep his head.</p><p>
  <em>"Run run run."</em>
</p><p>The blood froze in his veins.</p><p>
  <em>"Run. Run run run."</em>
</p><p>Something rustled, like claws through dead leaves.</p><p><em>"Who goes there?"</em> the voice grated out, a gurgling, distorted sound against the crack of thunder.</p><p>Ed's mind raced. Someone was there. Someone was in the room with him and he'd had no idea. His heart was in his throat, hammering away at his windpipe and making it impossible to breathe. He clamped a hand around his throat, backing up as blood pounded in his ears.</p><p>
  <em>"Hello? Who goes there?"</em>
</p><p>Ed opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.</p><p>An earsplitting scream ripped through the air.</p><p>Ed didn't remember finding the door, or tearing it open. He was only half aware of the freezing air hitting him across the face and the air charged full of electricity. His socks were soaked in a matter of steps as he stumbled and staggered from the house, all of his energies focused on putting as much distance as possible between himself and that terrible scream.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Chapter 34</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy opened the door of the car at the back of Central Command, Feury waiting with an umbrella to escort him inside the back way. "Sir," the Sergeant said in greeting.</p><p>Roy ducked under the umbrella, Feury shutting the door behind him as they made their way down the slushy sidewalk, wet sleet pelting the thin shelter over their heads. Thunder clapped overhead, and Roy couldn't help but feel a nagging sense of urgency. He needed to get this over with quickly. If Ed woke up in this . . . well, Roy didn't want to consider it.</p><p>Breda had given him a rundown of what had been going on since yesterday. Needless to say, Archer had been none too happy when he'd knocked on Roy's door bright and early that morning and found both Roy and Ed gone. He'd since taken up residence in the empty desk beside Hawkeye and was conducting his investigation from there, much to his staff's irritation. As predicted, he had obtained a warrant and searched the dorms, Havoc and Breda's, and Hawkeye's residences, respectively, and when he'd come up empty there, put out a BOLO for Ed, and was apparently in the process of putting out a warrant for Roy's arrest.</p><p>In other words, Roy had gotten them all into a fine mess.</p><p>"What's our status?" he asked.</p><p>"Vasovik is in holding cell four," Feury supplied, opening the back door for Roy. "Havoc has Archer and his men chasing their own tails with some false evidence he planted at his own house. They'll be looking for you on the other side of town for this evening, but some of his guys are still here. Breda's going to help Havoc now. As far as we can tell, they don't know anything about Vasovik, and Hawkeye and Falman are still in the office trying to keep it that way."</p><p>"What about you, Breda and Havoc?"</p><p>Feury grimaced. "Havoc, Breda and I apparently have a bad case of food poisoning from eating out of the same box of donuts and are locked in the bathroom until we're able to drive home."</p><p>Roy frowned. "Can you even get food poisoning from donuts?"</p><p>"Breda said that he's an expert in the subject of donuts and that it is very possible."</p><p>Well, if anyone knew, it was Breda.</p><p>"Sir," Feury began hesitantly. "You do understand that we're holding a foreign citizen, right?"</p><p>Roy suppressed a growl. "Your point?"</p><p>Feury shifted nervously just behind him, struggling to keep pace with Roy's longer strides and phrase his next 'point.' "We're breaking several regulations with this. We could get into a lot of trouble. Especially without at least a General signing off on it–"</p><p>"Don't worry, Feury, it's handled," he informed shortly. "General Armstrong has approved a prisoner transfer. We're hardly to blame if the higher-ups around here haven't gotten through their paperwork yet. I trust you've appropriately misfiled it?"</p><p>Feury looked ever more uncomfortable. "Yes, sir, but—"</p><p>"Stop worrying. Any heat that comes from it will be on me."</p><p>Feury looked away and mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like "that's what I'm worried about."</p><p>The interrogation rooms were at basement level in the command building. Roy took the steps two at a time, pulling on his gloves as he shouldered through the door out of the stairwell into the first security checkpoint. The guard was strangely absent, the radio on the counter buzzing something about a break-in in the east wing. Roy ignored it, though. That wasn't why he was here, and it made reaching his quarry all the easier. He wanted to get in and out with as few witnesses as possible.</p><p>Roy's gut clenched in anticipation, like preparing for a jump into a deep abyss. They were finally going to get answers. Roy was finally going to get his hands on one of those responsible.</p><p>And Vasovik would <em>pay.</em></p><p>Feury took a ring of keys out of his pocket and handed them to Roy, his expression tight. Roy only spared him a glance, inserting the key into the lock and turning it.</p><p>The short hallway before him was dark, but that wasn't what sent the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.</p><p>Blood.</p><p>It was splattered on the wall nearest him, drops on the floor, pooling under the door to his right.</p><p>He immediately shoved the shock and confusion aside while his military training took over with cold efficiency. "Feury!" he hissed, one hand posed to snap as he grabbed the handle of a door he knew would be unlocked.</p><p>He heard the smaller man run in behind him, panicked steps slapping on cold cement. Apparently the blood answered any questions he may have had. Roy waited until he heard the sharp click of Feury's gun before standing to the side, one hand on the knob. He made eye contact with Feury, received a shaky nod of confirmation, then threw open the door.</p><p>Feury entered first, sweeping the room with a gun clenched in trembling hands, face blanched white as his eyes locked on the form slumped on the floor.</p><p>Roy stepped in behind him, hand held high as his gaze traveled around the tiny room, past the metal table and sturdy chairs bolted to the ground, making note of the blood smeared across the floor, leading to the only body in an otherwise vacant room. What was left of the man was clothed in scraps of an MP's uniform, neck twisted unnaturally, horribly to one side as empty eyes stared wildly at nothing, blood-smeared mouth agape in a soundless cry.</p><p>Roy spat a curse, turning, flying out the door and rounding to the next one. Interrogation room number four was unlocked, the knob hot under his fingers. Roy shoved it open.</p><p>Smoke billowed out, black and thick, the smell of cooking meat making Roy's stomach clench and flashes of Ishval and bloody sand fly past his mind's eye. A fire roared in the corner, and Roy clenched his teeth in an enraged snarl.</p><p>Vasovik was nothing but a charring corpse.</p><p>Roy chocked on the smoke, eyes watering and despair suffocating him more than smoke ever could. "No . . . <em>no,"</em> he hissed, voice wild, desperation writhing like a living thing in his gut. He couldn't be gone. "This isn't right . . . this isn't <em>right</em> . . ."</p><p>"Well, well," a smooth voice purred behind him, freezing Roy's heart in his chest. He turned sharply.</p><p>Archer greeted him with a snake's smile, flanked on either side by two men, but Roy paid them no mind. His eyes were locked on Archer, the man's frozen blue eyes boring into him, that awful smile widening. "First, Edward Elric goes missing under your care, and now, a mysterious prisoner, burning in our interrogation room and one Flame Alchemist at the scene? I think I have a few questions for you, Colonel."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed had absolutely no idea where he was.</p><p>He had run away from wherever he had been with no direction and no plan. He had let the blind fear take over, and now he could have been in Xing for all he knew. He'd stopped against a stone wall to catch his breath and calm his mind, and as he breathed, his thoughts became clearer and less cluttered by panic.</p><p>He was soaked through, the blanket over his shoulders long since saturated, and now served only to make him wetter as moisture seeped underneath it and straight to his bones. He'd lost feeling in his only flesh foot a long time ago, despite the sock that he didn't recall ever putting on. His flesh palm and knee were scraped and felt hot with blood from his countless falls landing him on something more solid than snow or slush. Thunder rumbled overhead, still making him flinch no matter how many times he told himself it was harmless, and even as he leaned against the wall and gasped for breath, the wet sleet showered him and made him shiver helplessly. If he didn't get out of the cold soon, he was going to start feeling the effects of hypothermia.</p><p>What to do, though? He had no idea where he was. The next step he took could be into an open manhole. And whoever was back at that place could have been following him. He couldn't just sit out in the open and freeze to death.</p><p>He tried to slow his panting, just enough to focus and take in his environment.</p><p>The space felt small, sounds resonating almost to the point of echoing around him. He put his prosthetic fingers on the wall against him, then stretched outward, reaching across black and empty space. His flesh fingers finally brushed up against something cold and solid, but he was too numb to make out anything more than that with just his hands. Probably another wall, though. Maybe he was in some sort of alley?</p><p>Ed shivered but moved as swiftly as his frozen body would allow. Where there was an alley, there would be trash, and with any luck, Ed would be able to find something to double as a walking stick. Ed had protested vehemently to using one before, but being completely alone and helpless tended to make one reevaluate what was deemed humiliating. Staggering and stumbling around like an idiot was humiliating.</p><p>After some rummaging—and sticking his hand into some things that he decided he'd rather <em>not</em> know about—Ed found something that might do. Once he'd pulled it out and ran a hand up and down its length, Ed realized that he'd found some sort of club, or maybe just the leg of a table or chair. He briefly entertained the idea of using alchemy and better crafting it to his needs, but quickly decided against it. Without eyes to see to judge the exact amount and components of the wood, he risked a rebound, and that was about the last thing he needed right now.</p><p>He held the thicker end in his flesh hand and extended it out in front of him. Like this, the stick just barely touched the ground, but that was all he needed. He swung the stick experimentally in a small arc. It struck the wall with a faint crack, but nothing else. He'd have a much easier time navigating now.</p><p>Now he just had to figure out where he was going.</p><p>He couldn't go back to Mustang. Just the thought of it hurt deep, like swallowing hot stones. No, Mustang had made it painfully clear what he thought of Ed's company.</p><p>Tears burned hot in his eyes, but he blinked them back before they could fall and freeze on his face. Those were not thoughts he could afford to entertain right then. First he had to find shelter, then he could fall apart.</p><p>The thought that he'd been through much worse was strangely comforting as he walked. He wasn't sure about the passage of time, but he knew that he was still in the city by the stone and brick buildings he occasionally encountered. If the steadily dropping temperatures were any sort of gauge, it was probably past sunset. But if he was still in the city, why hadn't he heard any people or traffic? Was everyone inside, riding out the storm? Or maybe he was in the warehouse district or something similar after hours. He had no real way of knowing, so he kept walking.</p><p>It was surprisingly frustrating trying to find a door that was open. Every one he tried was locked, or maybe wasn't even a door to begin with. The cold was unbearable now, and exhaustion was making him consider putting his back to a wall and sleeping in the snow. It was an irrational thought, one that Ed recognized as a symptom of hypothermia, and the need to stay alive was the only thing keeping him moving now. His foot was so cold it burned, and the skin where flesh met metal wasn't much better off. In a couple of hours, moving wouldn't be an option.</p><p>Thunder snapped, and Ed's heart skipped a beat for the millionth time that night. Between that and the other noises of the snowed-in city—the unnamed thumps and squeaks, the distant barking of dogs, the rustling of bushes and the wind in the trees—keeping calm was relatively difficult. Moving helped, though. It was hard for his mind to recall the basement when it was so focused on staying alive in the present moment.</p><p>When he finally found shelter though, he wondered if he'd be so lucky.</p><p>With a shake of his head, Ed forced the thought from his mind and trudged forward. He'd be lucky if he found shelter in the first place.</p><p>The going was slow. He lost count of the buildings he'd tried to get into early on, and Ed wasn't sure if it was an hour or five that had passed as he staggered up against yet another building. This time though, there was a sense of finality to the action. One way or another, he knew this would be the last one.</p><p>He could barely move his automail at all, each step sending a slice of agony up his otherwise numb leg. He couldn't stop shivering, even if he tried, teeth chattering hard enough to be uncomfortable. Just the very act of breathing made his body ache, and his face was so cold he wondered if it was frozen in a pained grimace.</p><p>Yeah, this was the last one.</p><p>He reached ahead with his 'walking stick' again, running his free hand along the wall until it indented sharply. It took him a while to find the handle, fingers too numb and hands shaking too hard to manage it with any ease. He found it put all of his strength into twisting it.</p><p>Locked.</p><p>With a frustrated moan, Ed sank to his knees in the snow. He was <em>so tired.</em></p><p>Sleet pummeled his back, making soft whispers around him as it hit the snow and slush. His surroundings were hushed, as only snow can make them. He closed his eyes, breathing, the cold seeping into him, and he absently wondered why he was doing all of this.</p><p>Sleep wasn't a bad idea, was it?</p><p>No, not bad at all. And if he curled up just so . . . yes, it was almost warm, there against the building.</p><p>He could rest a few minutes, then be on his way.</p><p>
  <em>Don't.</em>
</p><p>Yes. Rest.</p><p>
  <em>You sleep, you die.</em>
</p><p>He could look . . .</p><p>
  <em>Elric, wake up!</em>
</p><p>. . . later.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Chapter 35</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Honestly, how could he be so <em>stupid?</em></p><p>Roy sat at the table, hands fisted in front of him as he tried his best to remain calm. He'd done this many times. Granted, it was from the other side of the table, but still, he knew the drill: they would let him sit for a few hours, turn the heat off, make him as uncomfortable as possible. At basement level, the room was already freezing, but Ed had been through much worse, so Roy wasn't about to complain.</p><p>Which brought him back to Ed.</p><p>For the millionth time, Roy stared his own reflection down in the one-way window in front of him and tried not to think about Ed. He was awake by now, surely. What was he doing now? Was he alone? Was he scared? Surely Silas was home by now, or if not, one of his team members had gone to take care of him.</p><p>He knew for a fact that Fuery was in the room next door. A few doors down from that, the crime scene was being analyzed and documented. He had no idea where the rest of his team was, or what Archer was plotting, but he knew whatever the man had planned, it went deeper and higher than Roy had wanted to believe.</p><p>To set him up like this . . . it was some sort of cover up. Roy had gotten close to something, something that Archer and whomever he was working for were willing to kill for. And Roy had walked right into the trap and taken everyone else down with him.</p><p>The door clicked open.</p><p>Roy's eyes snapped up to meet ice blue. Archer slid in, that serpentine smile on his pale face and a file in his hand. He didn't say anything as he shut the door and slipped behind Roy, making the hairs on the back of Roy's neck rise as he slowly walked around the table. He finally took his seat across from Roy. "Hello, Colonel," he purred. "Or should I just call you Roy?"</p><p>Roy smiled in response, clamping down on a heated reply. "Whatever you'd like, <em>Frank."</em></p><p>Archer frowned slightly, but didn't otherwise react. It was a rookie mistake to react to an obvious attempt at being baited, but Roy wasn't about to complain. Maybe he could turn this around somehow . . .</p><p>"Where were you between the hours of oh-sixteen hundred yesterday and oh-nineteen hundred hours today?"</p><p>Roy leaned back in his chair. "Let's see . . . well, at that time I was at my house, getting ready to have some friends over. You know, play some poker, start a lasagna. We wrapped up the party a few hours later, then I went and spend the night at a friend's place. I left only to come here."</p><p>"I see," Archer said, reclining back in his own seat. "So then, where was Edward Elric while you were hosting parties and having sleepovers?"</p><p>"Right there with me, of course."</p><p>"And where is he now?"</p><p>Roy smiled. "Ah, that's the funny part. You see, I don't know." Not as much of a lie as Roy wished it was.</p><p>Archer scowled. "You don't know?"</p><p>"No. I've been stuck in this room for a very long time, and I have no idea where he is."</p><p>Archer's fingers coiled around the file's spine. "Where did you see him last?"</p><p>"At my friend's house."</p><p>"What is the name of your friend?"</p><p>"So hard to remember . . . new friend. Just started working on the other side of town . . ."</p><p>Archer's gaze was positively withering. "You don't know his name," he said, tone flat.</p><p>Roy smiled vapidly. "It escapes me."</p><p>The Colonel leaned forward, lip curled in a barely –contained snarl. "Need I remind you, <em>Roy,</em> that you're in a very delicate position right now. If I don't get some more cooperation, I won't be able to do anything to reduce your prison sentence."</p><p>Roy smiled. "Frank, if you had anything to charge me with, you would have charged me. My guess is you have a handful of circumstantial evidence right there and none of it is going to stick. I have a witness."</p><p>Archer smiled. "Maybe, maybe not. I know your men are loyal to you, Roy. They would lie to cover for you. And that notwithstanding, even if that were to get you out of the murder of foreign national Nicolai Vasovik and MP Charlie Riggs—which is unlikely— it will not get you out of the kidnapping of Edward Elric."</p><p>"Kidnapping?" Roy arched an eyebrow mildly, though inside, his stomach dropped and the unforeseen possibility. That was not something he'd anticipated. <em>"Please. </em>Just because you can't find him doesn't mean I have him. I already told you he's with a friend. You searched my house, I'm sure. Where on earth would I keep a kid if I were lying?"</p><p>"That remains to be seen," he informed. "Tell me, Edward Elric has been in your care these past few weeks, correct? What capacity did you serve him?"</p><p>Roy shrugged, but wondered what angle the man was playing at. "The role of guardian, I suppose."</p><p>Archer nodded as if in thought. "It must have been difficult to care for him. His medical records show that he was very traumatized by his recent capture and torture. Flashbacks, night terrors; a host of psychological issues. These circumstances can be very draining for a caretaker, don't you think?"</p><p>Roy didn't like at all where this was going. His voice was little more than a growl when he asked, "What are you implying, exactly?"</p><p>"Come on, Roy," Archer leaned forward again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "It was probably just an accident, right? You were tired, worn down. Edward just screamed at the wrong time, and <em>boom!" </em>he snapped his fingers. "Nothing but ash."</p><p>Roy's stomach dropped and he tasted bile.</p><p>Once the shock had worn off, it took every ounce of self-control that Roy possessed not to launch himself across the table. He leaned across it, putting his face inches from Archer's.</p><p>"Look <em>here</em>, you <em>worthless</em>, sniveling sack of <em>trash</em>," he hissed, each word slow and measured, abhorrence dripping from them like venom. "I don't know what game you're playing at, but I did <em>not</em> murder those men, and there is no way in this world that I would <em>ever</em> let any harm come to Edward Elric, or anyone else under my command." He leaned back, hands still on the table, jaw tight and hatred burning in his gut. "And if that's all this is about, then I think we're done here."</p><p>Archer's blue eyes shifted from a wary glare, to something blank and guarded. "I see that there will be no cooperation from you, but I guess I don't really need it." He stood up from his chair, taking the file in his hands. "Finding the body of Edward Elric will be enough." Roy watched him as he walked out the door, closing it behind him.</p><p>Roy bit back an enraged snarl, mind racing from anger to panic and back again until it settled on one particular plea.</p><p>
  <em>Just hang on, Ed. Someone will be there soon.</em>
</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy decided that if he didn't get some information pretty soon, he was going to go absolutely <em>mad</em>.</p><p>He was stuck in a holding cell, Fuery occupying the one across from him. The mattress beneath him was lumpy and had the old, musty scent of body odor ground into it's very fibers. Exhaustion pulled his body into stasis, but his mind was racing, completely unable to sleep even if he'd wanted to. He wasn't sure how much time had passed between their arrest and now, but he was willing to bet it was now late at night, maybe early morning.</p><p>And still no news about Ed.</p><p>"I forgot to feed my goldfish," Fuery mumbled in the dark. Roy's eyes instinctively rose to look across the hall, but he could just barely make out his Sergeant lying across his cot and staring up at the metal ceiling behind his own set of prison bars. "Do you think she'll die?"</p><p>Roy wanted to throw a shoe at Fuery and tell him that he had no idea where Ed was, so who cared about a stupid fish? But then his conscience—which sounded an awful lot like Hawkeye— told him he was being insensitive. Roy knew that Fuery was just trying to break the silence that seemed to be so thick down here. And maybe he was trying to distract Roy from his own negative thoughts.</p><p>"I don't know, Fuery," Roy responded with a tired sigh. Fuery seemed unsatisfied with his answer, but rolled over on his side and didn't comment.</p><p>Worry gnawed inside of him, uncomfortable and exhausting, and the guilt was unbearable. Why didn't he trust his gut feeling? He had known better than to leave Ed by himself. He <em>knew</em> that, so why had he gone and done it anyway?</p><p>The answer almost hurt as much as his actions.</p><p>He did it because he knew more than anything he wanted to fix things. And he had desperately hoped that if he could just get Ed on the right track to healing, that if he found the ones that did this to him and gave him the closure he needed, that Ed would finally get better. And Roy wouldn't have to sit and deal with the consequences of his mistakes.</p><p>He had put "fixing" things over Ed's wellbeing.</p><p>Roy was a fool.</p><p>"Colonel?"</p><p>Roy looked up, ready to snap at Fuery and demand to be left alone, but he looked right up into Fuery's brown eyes and the snarl died on his lips. They were wide and innocent and shining in the dimness with concern that Roy didn't deserve. "It'll be alright, sir," he promised with a small smile. "Edward will be alright."</p><p>Roy just managed a weak smile of his own, but it faded fast. "Yeah . . . of course he will."</p><p>Iron squealed against iron and Roy was on his feet in an instant as the cellblock door opened down the hall and booted feet clicked towards them. Fuery was much more cautious about getting up than Roy had been, almost gingerly stepping up to the door and wrapping his hands around the bars to try and peer down the walkway.</p><p>Hawkeye strolled into view, eyes set hard and unreadable as she stopped in front of their cells. Roy saw the exhaustion under her eyes, though, and the tense set of her jaw. She gave Roy a salute, which he returned with a stiff hand. "Have you heard anything?" he demanded before his hand left his forehead.</p><p>Her sherry eyes slipped back down the hall to check for eavesdroppers before meeting his. "He's missing."</p><p>Roy felt something cold drop to his stomach.</p><p>Maybe it was his heart.</p><p>"Missing?" he repeated numbly, suddenly not sure if he was going to be able to stay standing as blood rushed to his head and his knees shook.</p><p>Ed was missing.</p><p>He was out there all alone . . .</p><p>Out <em>where?!</em></p><p>"How?" It wasn't exactly a demand. It was too numb and empty and shocked to be a demand.</p><p>She shook her head. "Silas called a few hours ago. He got home and found the front door wide open. The footprints were headed down south of town, but the path Ed took is haphazard and the sleet is quickly starting to cover his tracks. Havoc and Breda are out looking as we speak, but their last check-in revealed nothing."</p><p>Roy's knuckles whitened as he gripped the bars in front of him. "We need every man we have out there looking for him! Where's Falman? We need to be out there!" <em>Roy</em> needed to be out there. He swallowed back the impulse to kick the bars and settled for pacing the cell like a caged animal.</p><p>Ed was out there, alone and freezing and probably scared to death.</p><p>And it was Roy's fault.</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to banish the thought, but was struck with a sudden realization: That was the kind of thinking that landed him here in the first place.</p><p>This whole time it had been about Roy. It had been about Ed not hating Roy, or Roy not having to watch him go through something painful, or getting Ed through something so he would feel better and Roy wouldn't feel so terribly guilty.</p><p>He needed to start thinking past the nose on his face. He needed to think about someone else besides himself and his own stupid guilt.</p><p>He needed to start thinking about what was best for Ed.</p><p>"Don't worry, sir" Hawkeye said, voice soft but firm. Roy's eyes lifted to meet her strong gaze. "We have a plan."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Everything <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>Ed wasn't aware of much for a while, save that one notion. It wasn't very clear—it was dull, throbbing and encompassing—but it was enough to keep him from actually wanting to wake up for a while.</p><p>Slowly, though, consciousness tugged at him, pulling him from the near-restful slumber and into a much more painful state of being.</p><p>His flesh foot was wave after wave of hurt, and everywhere his skin touched automail felt just as bad. His body simply ached, like he'd been hit with the flu, and the chills that traveled down his spine supported the theory.</p><p>He felt terrible, and he vaguely wondered why. The last thing he remembered was . . .</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Wondering around in the snow and sleet like an idiot and falling asleep in the cold. That would do it.</p><p>But then . . . he wasn't lying in the snow now. There was definitely something firm and dry under him, like wood flooring.</p><p>At the suggestion that he once again had no idea where he was, Ed immediately stopped focusing on his body and what hurt and turned his attention to his environment. He could clearly detect the closed-in sense of being in a small, empty room. There was a dull roar coming from somewhere off to his right, and he quickly recognized it as fire from the gentle heat washing over his face. He clamped down on a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. He hated fire.</p><p>Continuing with his senses, he felt something around him like a blanket, but it wasn't his. His blanket was soft, made of warm fleece. This one was rough wool, thick and uncomfortable. He could tell by the touch of it, and that more than anything disquieted him. Familiar fear coiled in his stomach; the fear of being completely cut off from everything he knew. His breath started coming just a bit too fast, and he promptly tried to talk himself out of a panic attack.</p><p>
  <em>It's just a stupid blanket, Ed. Get a hold of yourself! Mustang's not coming to bail you out this time! You need to figure out what's going on instead of sitting here going to pieces.</em>
</p><p>After a few deliberate, steadying breathes, Ed did his best to sit up, the movement halting and stiff and painful.</p><p>Then a door glided open on old hinges and Ed stopped where he was.</p><p>"Well, well, look who's finally awake."</p><p>Ed's stomach froze over.</p><p>He <em>knew</em> that voice. He knew it.</p><p>"Envy?"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Chapter 36</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The silence rang in Ed's ears, deafening and tense as his pulse pounded in his head.</p><p>Lightening rumbled outside and the walls shook, momentarily jarring the shock from Ed's reeling mind.</p><p>This was Envy. Envy, the most impulsive and arguably the most dangerous of the homunculi that Ed had encountered. A wrong word would be the end of him, and Ed would never see it coming.</p><p>"Well?" Envy pressed, voice light and teasing and much too close for Ed's liking. "You just going to sit there staring at absolutely nothing?" He laughed, the sound like claws on chalkboard. "You really are blind as a bat! And just as stupid as ever."</p><p>Ed bit back a whimper, slowly dragging his body back away from the voice, blanket trailing behind him like broken wings. What was he supposed to do?! He couldn't fight like this! He was completely helpless and at Envy's mercy.</p><p>And Ed was very well aware that Envy had no mercy.</p><p>Footsteps treaded closer, floorboards creaking as Envy drew nearer. "They told me you'd changed, but even I didn't expect <em>this.</em> A little bit of torture was all it took to break the Fullmetal Alchemist, huh? Guess you're just as pathetic as any other human."</p><p>Ed could barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat. Everything sounded like it was reaching him through a curtain of water; muted and slow. He couldn't move any faster, his frozen muscles screaming with each painful motion, while his instincts screamed back that he had to <em>move.</em></p><p>The footsteps came faster and Ed instinctively ducked away, but not before something snagged his hair, cruel fingers digging into his scalp and yanking hair free as they secured a hold. Ed cried out, reaching up to rip Envy's hand away, but the homunculus batted him away with ease. "Now now, Pipsqueak. You're not going to go crawling off until we've had a good long talk. I haven't even gotten to gloat yet!"</p><p>Envy half dragged him five steps away, back the way Ed had come. Ed didn't have the strength to get his legs under him, much less fight back, and was helpless against the homunculus' strength. "Now, let's see," Envy said as if to himself. "What's the best way to keep you from running off? Without any more permanent damage, that is."</p><p>He felt Envy take hold of his automail leg, and before Ed could even try to fight him off, it shattered in his grip.</p><p>Agony flared through the port like lightening as the destroyed device fired off excess electricity. Ed screamed, hands flying to his leg in a vain effort to control the pain. His hands only found jagged metal and torn wires and tubes, the rest of his leg missing from just below the knee.</p><p>Loose bits of metal tapped on the wooden floorboards like heavy rain as Envy released his hold and took a step back. "That's better. Now, where were we?"</p><p>Through tortured sobs, Ed gripped his mangled automail, flesh fingers curled around the shattered edges while the metal ones massaged his spasming thigh muscle. <em>"What do you want?!"</em> he screamed through gritted teeth and pained tears.</p><p>Envy's laugh was nothing short of thrilled, the manic grin on his face audible. "Oh, come on now, brat! This is the fun part. This is where I get to tell you that I was the one that wreaked havoc on your pathetic little life and just how I did it. You should be interested to know. I went through a lot of trouble, after all. I wouldn't do that for just anyone."</p><p>That got Ed's attention.</p><p>Envy was responsible?</p><p>"What do you mean?" he gasped.</p><p>He could hear the monster grinning, sending a deep, primal fear slithering through his stomach. "Let me tell you a story."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>"Alright, we're ready," Falman said as he mostly jogged down the hallway. He stopped in between Roy and Fuery's cells, coming to stand beside Hawkeye. "He's all set and waiting."</p><p>"Good," she said before turning her gaze to Roy. "Come here, sir," she ordered, beckoning him closer to her.</p><p>"Hawkeye," Roy said warningly, eying her with barely concealed trepidation but taking a step closer, regardless. "What are you thinking? I want to know what this plan is."</p><p>She pressed herself against the bars of his prison, one hand slipping inside her uniform jacket. "No time, sir." Her free hand reached in and grabbed his wrist. He glanced up to meet her gaze, so close he could breathe in her breathes. "Sir, do you trust me?"</p><p>Roy's eyes locked on hers, finding resolution in their sherry depths. His reply was instantaneous. "Yes, Riza."</p><p>She smiled, steady and calm. "Good," she said before plunging a needle into his hand.</p><p>Roy cursed, ripping his hand away. His whole arm quickly warmed as the unknown chemical rushed through his veins like liquid flame. "Hawkeye! What in the—?!"</p><p>"Sir, I suggest lying down before you fall down," Hawkeye responded calmly. "The drug is going to take effect any minute, and it would be helpful if you didn't give yourself a concussion."</p><p>As if on cue, Roy's body began to feel terribly heavy, like someone had strapped sandbags to his limbs. "What . . . what was that?" he asked, wondering if his voice had actually come out slurred or if he was having trouble hearing. His tongue felt swollen in his mouth and his vision was quickly going black around the edges. "Hawk . . . eye. What . . . what—?" he managed before his legs buckled and he landed flat on his rear.</p><p>Hawkeye gave him a weary sigh. "I told you to sit down," she chastised. "Falman, please hurry and tell the guard that the Colonel has mysteriously taken ill. He will undoubtedly need medical service."</p><p>"Yes, sir!" Falman barked, turning and jogging down the hallway.</p><p>"Lieutenant, what did you do?" Feury asked, voice trembling as he gazed out past his bars at Roy. "Did you inject him with something?"</p><p>Roy's hand wrapped around his chest, clutching weakly at his heart as if the gesture could relieve the pressure there. He fell back, elbows quickly giving out on him as his body turned against him, now far too weak to hold himself up. His breathes came in labored gasps and he couldn't make a sound to save his life.</p><p>"I've injected him with an agent that will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack without actually harming the heart. He will experience shortness of breath, dizziness, fatigue, and possible disorientation. If everything goes as planned, he'll have medical help in under six minutes."</p><p>"And if it doesn't?" Feury asked.</p><p>"Then I'll have to inject the antidote," she said matter-of-factly. "I was given this by a certified doctor. There's no reason to worry."</p><p>"A doctor? Who?"</p><p>Roy was dimly aware of the hallway doors opening and footsteps moving fast down the hall. "Yes, right, so lucky I was here!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "Very lucky!"</p><p>"Yes, and why did you say you were here, again?" Archer's wary voice demanded. "Doctor . . .?"</p><p>"Call me Jim! Yes, well, I was here visiting my aunt's cousin's niece's great uncle when I heard this young man shouting calling for a doctor and—good heavens!" Silas exclaimed as he rounded the corner, eyes sweeping over Roy in a quick second. He thrust his arm out, finger pointed at Roy with absolute conviction. "That man is having a heart attack! He needs medical attention at once!" he turned to the MP flanking his side. "Open this cell!"</p><p>"How do you know?" Archer cut in as he came into view, eyes sliding to Roy with thinly veiled suspicion.</p><p>Silas gave him a withering look that Roy detachedly found to be quite convincing. "I'm a <em>doctor,</em> Colonel. You think I don't know a heart attack? Well, sir, <em>that</em> right there is what a heart attack looks like. Key symptoms include shortness of breath and the telltale way he's <em>clutching his heart.</em> I don't tell you who to shoot your gun at, Colonel, so don't tell me who is or isn't having a heart attack! Now open the door or we're going to lose him!"</p><p>Archer glared hard at Silas for a long minute, as if trying to force the truth out of him by the power of his gaze.</p><p>Finally, he sighed. "Very well. Open the door."</p><p>The MP looked relieved to not be caught in the crossfire anymore. He unlocked the cell door and Silas slipped in, quickly kneeling by Roy's side and opening his bag.</p><p>Roy wished he would hurry up and <em>do</em> something. His chest felt like someone was sitting on it, each breath a struggle. Sweat dripped down the side of his face with each shaky exhale.</p><p>Silas, his back to the outside of the cell, gave Roy a conspiratorial grin and a wink as he removed a needle and a bottle of clear fluid from his bag. "Hello, there sir! I understand that these things can be alarming, but rest assured, you are in good hands." From the smile on his face, Roy decided the small doctor was having a little too much fun. Silas turned the bottle upside-down and shoved the needle in, drawing out a few milligrams of liquid before putting the bottle aside and plunging the needle into Roy's arm.</p><p>The relief was almost instantaneous. Roy's chest immediately loosened, allowing him to gulp in lungfuls of oxygen and clear away some of the blackness in the corner of his vision, as well as the burning in his chest and the suffocation-fueled terror that had gripped his mind.</p><p>"I've given him something to ease his symptoms, but we need to get this man to a hospital," Silas said sternly. It was almost comical to hear that tone of voice coming from the man. "I trust the ambulance is on its way?" he asked over his shoulder.</p><p>"Yes, Doctor," Hawkeye's voice supplied. Roy fleetingly wished he could see her, but she was on the other side of Silas, and Roy couldn't have moved even if he'd wanted to.</p><p>"He may need a hospital, but he's not going alone," Archer hissed. Roy could still see him. He was sending the full force of his glare at Silas' back. "Two MPs will be accompanying him, and as soon as I wrap things up here, I will be along shortly."</p><p>Silas gave Archer a look that seemed to ask him if he was a complete moron. "There will be room for only one more in the ambulance, Colonel. You can't possibly send two MPs."</p><p>Archer scowled. "There is no need for you to worry your pretty head, Doctor," he promised. "I will take care of it."</p><p>Silas moved his shoulder in a half shrug. "Suit yourself, Colonel. Alright, Colonel . . . Mustang, is it? Don't worry about a thing, I'll just have a look at your vitals before the ambulance gets here." Silas slipped a hand around Roy's wrist and pulled out his gold pocket watch with the other.</p><p>"Was that shot really necessary?" Roy hissed under the cover of Archer's conversation with Hawkeye. His tongue still felt thick and swollen in his mouth, but he managed to convey his irritation well enough. "Couldn't I have just faked it?"</p><p>"Nonsense," Silas scoffed, pulling out a pad and scribbling something down. "The drug allowed for a much more believable performance. The EMTs are going to verify my diagnosis, and it's near impossible to fake half those symptoms. Besides," he looked down at Roy with a grin, "this way was more fun."</p><p>Roy scowled, resting his head back as the room tilted lazily around him. "I think I hate you."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed could hear Envy circling him, footsteps slow and smooth, like a stalking cat. Ed couldn't stop his body from trembling, though if it was from fear or the pain still radiating from his ruined automail, he couldn't be sure.</p><p>"Well, Pipsqueak, do you know exactly how you ended up going North?" Envy asked, the suddenness of his voice making Ed flinch. Ed didn't respond, fear choking him.</p><p>Going North? At the Drachman border?</p><p>Did Envy have something to do with his mission?</p><p>A sharp blow to his side had him crumpling to the ground with a startled cry. "I'm talking to you, brat!" Envy snarled. He felt Envy's foot push under his back and flip him over before planting itself in Ed's gut, effectively pinning him to the wood floor.</p><p>Ed gasped for breath, unable to dislodge the foot and all but unable to answer. He managed a sharp, wheezy, <em>"No,"</em> before Envy forced the breath out of him.</p><p>"You learn fast. I've always liked that about you," the homunculi said blithely. "You went up North because of <em>me."</em></p><p>It didn't make sense. What was the point?</p><p><em>"I</em> was the one who broke into the warehouses. I was the one who pretended to be Lieutenant Colonel Bearden and filed that report before I killed the pathetic sap. You remember Bearden, don't you? And<em> I</em> was the one who told the Fuhrer that you were the only one for the job! And do you know what else?"</p><p>Ed couldn't speak, and no matter what he did, couldn't wriggle out from under Envy's foot, so he shook his head.</p><p><em>"I</em> was the one that hired the Drachmen to take you!"</p><p>Ed stopped.</p><p>"That's right, Pipsqueak. It was all me."</p><p>The foot went away, and Ed coughed as air rushed back into his lungs.</p><p><em>"Why?"</em> he choked.</p><p>The single word held a million questions, questions that had haunted him since the beginning of it all. Why him? Why did they take him? Why did they take his sight? What was the point in all of it?</p><p>And now he was starting to get some inkling of an answer, some twisted reasoning for all the horrors and all the inhumanity that he had endured.</p><p>Envy sounded thrilled with the question. "I thought you'd never ask! You see, we had three small problems: you, your tin-can brother and Sparky. Mustang was getting just a bit too ambitious, and the two of you imbeciles just couldn't stay out of our business, could you? Father was starting to be concerned that you would interfere with our plans, but you guys are all candidates for sacrifice, so I couldn't just kill you."</p><p>That was the same drivel Envy had fed him before. He still wasn't sure what this <em>sacrifice</em> was, but it had kept him alive, so he'd never complained about it.</p><p>Then he'd been introduced to a fate arguably worse than death. Now he wasn't so sure it was anything to be grateful for.</p><p>"So," Envy continued, still standing over him like a lion over its kill. "We started Operation Firefight. Clever, huh? It goes higher up than you can imagine. The goal was to bring you State Alchemists under control. But you remember Operation Firefight, don't you? Those Drachmen asked you about it enough. I mean, they were just hired guys, but they were hoping you'd tell them some useful dirt on Amestris. And every time you didn't answer, they tore a fingernail out, didn't they?" he asked, the excitement in his voice making Ed even sicker. "Or did they light you up like a Christmas tree? I wasn't able to be there for all of it. I stayed as much as I could, though. I didn't want to miss a thing."</p><p>Envy had been there. Envy had watched as they stripped his humanity away from him and Ed hadn't even noticed.</p><p>Envy lowered himself, his face inches from Ed's own. Ed could feel his hot, vile breath whisper across his face and almost gagged on the pervasive scent of rot around the homunculus.</p><p>"As fun as killing you would be, I'll admit, I never thought that breaking that spirit of yours would be just as fun." A hand cupped the side of Ed's face, patronizing in its gentleness and chilling in its familiarity. Ed immediately tried to shrink away, but the other hand just snagged in his hair, trapping him in place.</p><p>"And you know what the best part is?" he asked in a silky purr, one hand still stroking the side of his face, clawed hands scraping over his cheekbone and eliciting an involuntary whimper from Ed's throat as it got much too close to his eye. "The best part is I get to finish destroying you, and Mustang will take the fall for it. Isn't it great? All we had to do was get to you, and your little band of do-gooders gets obliterated. Your little brother leaves you behind and runs off to Xing, and then there's Mustang. Even now they have him in a holding cell. He's going to deny everything, but when I dress up as one of his men and bring your broken, gibbering body through the doors of Central Command and testify that he was the cause, I wonder if he'll ever see the light of day again? You know how it's going to look? It's going to look like he set you up to get taken by the Drachmen."</p><p>Envy finally released his hold on Ed's face and Ed recoiled from the violating touch. He tried to cover his whole body with the rough new blanket, but it wasn't long enough.</p><p>"Pathetic brat," Envy huffed with disgust. "Want me to tell you how this is all going to play out, Edward Elric? We've got it laid out flawlessly. We even have a guy on the inside that is going to hang this all perfectly around Mustang's neck, thanks to you. Let me tell you how the story's going to end."</p><p>Ed swallowed back bile. This wasn't his fault. None of this was his doing, no matter what Envy said.</p><p>The lie tasted bitter even to himself.</p><p>"You know what they say about Mustang around the office," Envy commented happily. "He's always been jealous of you. You're one person that may be a better alchemist than he is. And you're just a brat kid. That has to sting the pride. So he just ships you up to Drachma, all alone with no back up. Of course you're going to get taken."</p><p>"No proof," Ed whispered. "Fuhrer sent me."</p><p>"And you know what's convenient about that? All those papers have mysteriously gone missing. Even the ones in Hawkeye's apartment. There is absolutely no paper evidence linking your orders to the Fuhrer. Isn't that a shame? Now, where was I?</p><p>"Oh, yes, Mustang sends you up North and you get captured. Do you know how long it took Mustang to launch an investigation? <em>Three weeks.</em> He ignored you for three weeks!"</p><p>"No," Ed said again, the protest weak. That wasn't Mustang's fault. "Military blocked him."</p><p>Something hit the side of Ed's head and he cried out.</p><p>"I'm getting real tired of you interrupting me with your pathetic whining!" Envy snarled. <em>"Anyway, </em>Mustang takes his time, but then he starts to feel guilty . . . I mean, you're just a little kid, after all, so he finally mounts a rescue mission, expecting you to be dead, but you're still alive! And now, after little brother has finally left, he seals the deal! Beats you up until your nothing but a mindless wreck and end up at the funny farm. People don't take well to child abusers, you know.</p><p>"Yep, Mustang is going to be in prison for a long long time. But now . . . the only question is, how best to finish the job?" Ed felt a pressure at his chest, then the blanket was ripped from around Ed's shoulders.</p><p>Ed needed that. He needed that blanket.</p><p>Ed frantically searched the ground beside him, fighting down a strangled sob as his only comfort was stolen, but rough hands shoved him to the ground again and wrapped themselves in his shirt.</p><p>In a single rip, his shirt was open, his thin, emaciated chest exposed to the cold air. Panic fluttered through his mind like leaves in the wind. Ed curled in on himself, using his automail to drag himself back, but Envy's foot came down once again, the cold appendage pinning Ed's chest to the ground. "What . . . what are you doing?" Ed wheezed, the fresh fear that came with being trapped filling his soul.</p><p>Envy cackled, and Ed could feel his eyes raking over him, immodest and cruel. "Look at you, Pipsqueak! You look like a sack of bones! Not much left of you, huh? Well, I think in the psych ward they feed everyone with tubes anyway. I don't plan on leaving enough of your mind for you to worry about that, though."</p><p>A hand latched onto Ed's wrist and before he could even try to cover himself, Envy yanked hard. Ed left the ground, and mindless terror engulfed him. He hit something hard, only just registering that something in his chest gave with the impact before he crumpled to the ground.</p><p>Ed whimpered, curling up with one hand wrapped protectively around his ribs as fire burned his side. He didn't hear Envy over the blood pounding in his ears until the homunculus was right over him. Something clinked like metal as Envy picked his head up off the floor by the hair, a cold band securing itself around his neck.</p><p>A collar.</p><p>A metal collar.</p><p>"Tell me, Edward," Envy said with a smile Ed could only hear.</p><p>Ed smelled blood and wolves and he could taste the pain in the air, panic engulfing his mind like fire.</p><p>"Do you remember the basement?"</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Chapter 37</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Honestly, this wasn't the sort of day Roy had envisioned when he had gotten up that morning.</p><p>He didn't make a fuss as Silas and a pair of EMTs strapped him to a gurney and hit him with a barrage of questions as they took his vitals and wheeled him out the back door of HQ. It was dark out now, the occasional flash of lightening illuminating the sky and the falling sleet like millions of tiny fireflies. Cold wind rushed across his face, managing to wind its way into the warm blanket strapped around him as it did and he shivered in response.</p><p>His impatience, however, was mounting. Hawkeye and Archer followed close behind, conversing under the stream of chatter Silas was aiming at the EMTs and Roy couldn't catch a word of it over the wind, but he had to assume the man was telling her what, exactly, he was going to do if anything suspicious happened that night.</p><p>"Alright, up we go!" Silas grunted as he and the others hefted the gurney into the ambulance. Roy stared at his reflection in the metal ceiling above him as the two medical personnel and—after some arguing—only one of Archer's MPs piled into the vehicle with him, one EMT sliding into the driver's seat while the other took a seat on the benches lining the sides of the car.</p><p>Roy saw Riza, her sherry eyes resting on him with the upmost confidence. He saw her pull Silas aside, whisper something in his ear, then slip something in his pocket before he piled in the vehicle, pulling the doors shut as he did. Then they were driving.</p><p>That had been the easy part.</p><p>"Sir, do you feel any tingling or numbness?" Clarissa asked. She was young and pretty, with hazel eyes and dark hair swept up in a bun that she constantly reached back to tighten every few minutes.</p><p>Roy shook his head. "Honestly, I'm feeling much better now."</p><p>"That's good news!" Silas exclaimed, bending down. "Alright, then, I'll just unstrap these, then," he said, hands reaching down for the leather belts that held him to the gurney.</p><p>"Doctor, the patient must be secure for transport—"</p><p>Silas gave her a dazzling smile. "It's alright, Clarissa. Trust me, I'm a doctor."</p><p>Clarissa looked uncertain, brows furrowed as she glanced from Roy to Silas, reaching a hand back to adjust her hair.</p><p>"Leave him tied up."</p><p>Roy looked up to see the MP glaring down at them. Second Lieutenant Bailey was a big man, with a close-shaved head and a thick mustache sitting on his upper lip like some fluffy caterpillar. Even under his uniform, Roy could make out the bulging muscles perfect for ripping people's lungs out, or smothering whales. "Colonel's orders," he rumbled. "He stays tied up."</p><p>"And I know Colonel Archer just has everyone's best interests at heart, but I'm afraid I simply must listen to his heart, and I can't do that from the back if he's strapped down—"</p><p>"Doctor," Clarissa interrupted. "We already did that five minutes ago—"</p><p>"Clarissa, <em>shush!"</em> Silas said, turning back to the MP with a disarming smile. "Okay, I'm lying. That was all a big lie. Actually, I'm not even a doctor. I'm from the Fuhrer's head of security." Panic fluttered in Roy's chest as Silas shot to his feet, taking a big step over Roy into Bailey's personal space. What was the idiot doing? This was not part of the plan!</p><p>Bailey flinched, the gun in his arms raising an inch until Silas whipped out a wallet from his back pocket and put it in the man's face. He flipped it open and shut too fast to read. "Special Agent Bartholomous . . . Smith."</p><p>Bartholomous Smith. It's like the man was trying to get them all shot.</p><p>Bailey's expression faltered just the slightest as his eyes flicked from Roy to Silas. Roy didn't have any trouble acting dismayed at the sudden revelation.</p><p>Roy forcibly clamped down on a warning and glanced down over himself. He was still completely confined in the blanket, the gurney's straps securing him across his chest, hips, thighs and shins. It was standard procedure when transporting prisoners, and though Roy was alright with playing along when things were going according to plan, it seemed like the situation was starting to head downhill, and the last place Roy wanted to be was strapped down when Bailey decided to shoot them all.</p><p>"Head of security?" Bailey questioned, eyes narrowing.</p><p>"That's right!" Silas assured, leaning one elbow on the high shelf lining the wall of the ambulance like a lecturer about to impart ancient wisdom onto his learner. "Transporting prisoners to the hospital is always tricky business. You've got to watch out for all kinds of things, like riots and escapes and people hitting you over the head with bedpans."</p><p>Bailey frowned. "What—"</p><p>Silas' fist closed around something bright sliver and he brought it down over Bailey's head, dislodging a rain of empty syringes and rolls of gauze to crash to the floor.</p><p>The man cried out, one hand clutching his head and the other raising the gun to fire. Silas lunged forward, a picture of uncoordinated limbs as one hand wrapped around the barrel of the weapon while the other arm brought the bedpan over the man's head again and again.</p><p>Really, the situation might have been funny if there weren't a gun pointed just a few inches over Roy's head.</p><p>The end of the gun exploded with a bright flash and Roy ducked his head with a yelp as a round pierced the side of the ambulance with a high-pitched shriek. Clarissa screamed and the driver cursed as the vehicle swerved. The straps held Roy in place through the scuffle, even as he tried to free himself, hands working free of the blanket in a panicked flurry.</p><p>He was going to die because Silas was trying to bludgeon an armed man to death with a bedpan.</p><p>The vehicle skidded to a stop, sending loose materials and supplies raining down on them from the upper shelves. Clarissa fell on top of Roy, covering his head with her body and momentarily obscuring his view of the scuffle until a strangled snarl had her sitting up again to see what happened.</p><p>With a victorious cry, Silas wrenched the weapon from Bailey's hands, staggering back to lean against the wall. In his other hand, the bedpan gleamed, dented and smeared with blood like some terrible war weapon.</p><p>Bailey cradled his head, a stream of blood trickling down his bald scalp to stain his shirt collar. His eyes were on Silas, wide with surprise and glassy with pain.</p><p>In Bailey's defense, Roy certainly hadn't been expecting . . . well, <em>that</em>.</p><p>"Okay," Silas said, eyes wide and wild, voice strangled and shaking. Roy wasn't sure if it was fear or adrenaline. "I am a holding a gun and a bedpan. It's been a long day, so I will only make this offer once. We're on a rescue mission to find a child that's lost out in the middle of this storm, and if you help us, there will be heaps of glory in it for you, and if you don't, I will hit you with this bedpan and shave your mustache off while you're unconscious. Which will it be? Heaps of glory, or naked lips? Of course, nothing wrong with naked lips. My lips are naked, but I don't think you want your lips naked, so which one?"</p><p>Bailey was looking as if he was trying to decide if he should laugh or jump out of the ambulance. Finally, he uncurled himself from the corner of the vehicle, one hand still holding his bleeding head. "Glory, please."</p><p>"Ha, he said glory!" he giggled maniacally, clearly on the cusps of hysterics. "Good, glory is good. Better than naked lips. Roy, I'm holding a gun and a bedpan, but I actually really have a problem with the gun one, Roy, please please take it."</p><p>"Silas, someone has to unstrap me first," Roy said, struggling to keep his voice calm.</p><p>"Oh, right." Silas looked at the gun in his hand numbly. He made to drop it on the bench.</p><p><em>"No,</em> Silas, hold it and keep it on Bailey!" Roy snapped. "Clarissa, get these straps off of me, please." The last part was strangled.</p><p>Clarissa mutely obliged, wide hazel eyes darting from Silas to Bailey, then back down at her work. The medic in the driver's seat had a clear view of Silas and the gun trembling in his hands and wisely kept his mouth shut until Roy was free. Roy bent down to undo the final strap and jumped to his feet.</p><p>Silas all but threw the gun at him, Roy barely managing to catch it before it fell to the ground. The weapon was heavy and foreign in his hands. How long had it been since he'd last used one?</p><p>"Now what?" Silas asked. Now that he was free of the gun, it seemed some of his nerves had disappeared as well. "I've never done a prison break before. This is all very exciting!"</p><p>Roy suppressed the childish impulse to roll his eyes and turned to address the other three occupants. "Okay, here's how this is going to work," Roy announced, smoothing the shakiness from his voice with his military training. "Everyone stand up. Bailey and you," he gestured to the driver with his gun. "Wrap your hands around a bench leg."</p><p>The driver glanced around as if hoping someone would tell him this was all some stupid joke, but Bailey complied with nothing more than a weary sigh, sitting on the floor and crossing his wrists in front of him around a bench leg.</p><p>Roy snagged a couple of plastic bags filled with IV lines from a shelf and handed them to Clarissa and Silas. "Tie them up good. Then Jim, tie her up as well."</p><p>Clarissa gave him a wide-eyed look, but Silas touched her arm with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Clarissa. Just a precaution. Play along and you'll be home in time for breakfast."</p><p>She returned his smile, though more frail, then took an IV line from Roy and headed for the driver.</p><p>Both complied under Roy's cover, and soon, all three of them were restrained. Roy then turned and put a few rounds through the radio. Clarissa yelped as the entire inside of the ambulance was lit briefly by bright sparks, then it was dead.</p><p>"Hey! That's hospital property!" the nameless driver shouted in indignation.</p><p>"Silas will buy you a new one," Roy said flippantly. "Alright, James, you can drive one of these, right?"</p><p>Silas gave the man an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Roger." He turned back to Roy. "Of course I know how! I drive one of these beauties to the polka festival every year." He slid into the seat, turning the key in the ignition and giving it some gas. The machine soon roared to life and Silas turned over to give Roy a bright smile. "Where to?"</p><p>Roy took a seat on the bench farthest from his 'prisoners.'</p><p>"Find my team."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed didn't know how long it had been since they'd come for him last. Was it days? Weeks? He had some vague recollections of pain, but all of it had just melted and ran together like blood in the rain. He was dizzy, like he'd been hit over the head, and there was an awful rumbling, like wolves growling, snarling suddenly and jarring him every time.</p><p>His automail leg hissed as electricity fired through it, making his back arch in pain until he curled up, pulling it closer to his chest and tried to breathe through it with tight whimpers. He briefly wondered if the wolves would attack him like this, but quickly shoved the thought away. Entertaining it while everything hurt so badly was too much to handle at the moment.</p><p>Somewhere, footsteps beat against the ground. He heard the door open on squealing hinges, sending spikes of dread through his gut.</p><p>He wasn't ready.</p><p>"There you are, Fullmetal," a familiar baritone rumbled, voice too loud and somehow not right in the basement.</p><p>Ed jerked at the sound, shock jarring his mind momentarily. He reflexively sat up and pressed himself against the wall for some small measure of protection. Not right. It wasn't right. Mustang wouldn't come for him. Mustang had abandoned him, abandoned him to this basement, and he wouldn't be back.</p><p>"Is that anyway to treat me, Fullmetal? After all I've done for you?" he asked, booted feet treading closer.</p><p>Hope swelled in his chest. Was this real? Had Mustang finally come for him? After months of being trapped in the dark, Mustang was finally here? He didn't hate him?</p><p>But it shouldn't be Mustang. Ed wasn't sure why, but he knew it shouldn't be him.</p><p>Something had happened. Something he couldn't quite remember, but it was important. It was the proof he needed to understand that this wasn't quite right, but without the memory of it, it left him vulnerable and uncertain.</p><p>But surely it couldn't hurt to believe that Mustang was here to save him? Just for a bit . . . just for now, then he could wake up and be satisfied knowing what it would feel like to be saved.</p><p>"Come on, Fullmetal," the voice scattered his thoughts like marbles. "Get up."</p><p>Ed tried, but then noticed his leg was missing. That wasn't right . . . but it was undeniably gone. "I can't . . ."</p><p><em>"Get up!"</em> the voice snarled, suddenly loud and powerful and full of menace and anger Ed hadn't ever heard in the man's voice before. A cruel hand fisted in his hair, yanking hard.</p><p>With a surprised, pained yelp, Ed struggled to get up, to follow the man's vicious tugging and get to his foot. He tried to steady himself using the wall, the chain clattering with his weak, panicked movements. Why was he yelling? Why was Mustang hurting him? What had he done? Was this because he had messed up and gotten caught in the first place? Because he had made himself useless to the military and, by extension, to Mustang?</p><p>Or was this because of what he had forgotten?</p><p>He got to his foot and the hand left him while he tried to brace himself against the wall, only one bad shudder away from collapsing to the ground as his weakened knee trembled and his head spun. He hoped it was enough to satisfy Mustang, because he was going to fall over at any moment.</p><p>"Look at you, Fullmetal. You look like some skinny, beaten dog," Mustang said, the disgust dripping off his voice making Ed want to hide, to curl up and cover himself in shame. "Maybe I shouldn't have come at all. Nothing left to take back, is there?"</p><p>Fear coiled in Edward's gut. Mustang would just leave him there? He would leave him behind like this? "No," he chocked. "Don't leave me . . . please . . ."</p><p>Mustang laughed, but it was a cruel, heartless sound, not a trace of its usual warmth. It bounced off the basement walls, assaulting Ed's ears from a hundred different angles. "And why would I take you with me? You're less than useless like this. You're not fit to be my subordinate."</p><p>"Please . . . Mustang," Ed whispered, reaching out to the older man. He couldn't get left behind. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.</p><p>This wasn't how it <em>had</em> happened.</p><p>A cold, rough hand grabbed his wrist and threw him to the ground. Ed cried out as the hard floor bit into his thin body, curling in on himself in pain and fear. "Don't touch me, brat. You'll get your filth on my uniform."</p><p>Hurt tears gathered in Ed's blind eyes. Ed tried to blink them back, but they fell anyway. The words, the complete disdain in Mustang's voice, hurt. It hurt more than Edward thought possible. He felt unclean, degraded, like some sort of animal, except maybe worse. Worse because deep down, he knew this was right. He knew he was nothing and should be treated as such.</p><p>"What, you're going to cry?" Mustang asked, mocking and terrible. "Are you such a child that you can't understand? I'm done with you, Fullmetal. You've worn out your usefulness. You're just a broken toy soldier now, and I certainly don't have use for those."</p><p>The footsteps moved, retreating, walking away.</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>"Wait . . ."</p><p>"Goodbye, Fullmetal," he said around an audible smile.</p><p>The basement door opened and closed and Ed curled up against the wall, feeling like trash—used and discarded. He was the broken toy soldier, the attack dog with no teeth left. And he couldn't blame Mustang for not wanting him around anymore. Mustang didn't owe him anything.</p><p>And yet . . . and yet, Ed had hoped that maybe there was something else there. Maybe he had value and worth that went beyond what he could achieve for Mustang. That maybe Mustang saw him as more than a subordinate, maybe more like a friend or family. Maybe more like a son.</p><p>Ed closed his eyes. A fool's dream.</p><p>He shivered and decided he didn't care if the wolves came.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>It didn't take too long for Silas to find his team's last known location, and from there, they followed the beaten down snow and slush a few blocks east, then in a jagged trail south. They finally caught sight of a swath of blue cloth disappearing down an alley and Silas rolled to a stop against the curb.</p><p>Roy was out of the vehicle before the engine was cut, slamming the door behind him and taking off at a light jog through the cold. During the ride, the sleet had turned into snow, and was now falling into his eyes and sticking to his uniform. The wet snow quickly seeped into his pant legs, but he paid it no mind, almost slipping on ice in his haste to get into the alley.</p><p>A burning cigarette illuminated the tension on Havoc's face as Roy turned the corner. He relaxed as soon as he recognized Roy, his gun slipping back in the holster at his side. "Sir," he greeted, then called over his shoulder. "Just the Colonel, Breda."</p><p>A rounded figure melted from the shadows behind a dumpster. "Colonel," Breda greeted, joining them in the mouth of the alley. Crunching snow behind Roy alerted him to Silas' arrival.</p><p>The smaller man stopped at Roy's elbow. "Alright, what's the plan?" Silas asked, slapping something in Roy's hands before rubbing his own together, but whether in cold or excitement, Roy wasn't sure. "There's a plan, right? There's always a plan."</p><p>"Of course," Roy responded, accepting his gloves and tucking them safely into his pocket. "You guard the prisoners. We're finding Ed."</p><p>"Right, guard the prisoners," Silas agreed enthusiastically. "So, you're sending me to wait in the car."</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>"I can do that," Silas nodded. "I can wait in the car." He turned around the way he'd come, stomping out the alley as a gust of frigid wind whipped through.</p><p>Roy shivered against it, an ominous growl of thunder punctuating the silence. "Okay, what do you have?"</p><p>Breda gestured to the snow behind him. "We followed the tracks to here. We're fairly certain they're Ed's. Look."</p><p>Roy bent closer in the dimness, just able to make out the faint and fading tracks in the snow. Every other one was bloodied.</p><p>"The blood started about a block ago," Havoc informed grimly. "Guess frostbite set in. Anyway, it looks like he tried most of the doors in the alley, but they're all locked. The tracks stop here," he said, gesturing to a door behind Roy.</p><p>Roy stepped over, careful not to disturb the trail as he crouched down.</p><p>"Another set of tracks," he murmured. "No more blood. Maybe someone found him?" A thin glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. Maybe Ed was safe.</p><p>"Yeah," Breda agreed. "And from here, there might have been a scuffle, or just someone manhandling him," he said, gesturing to the marks in the snow.</p><p>Manhandling. Either Ed was in distress from his own personal demons, or someone had taken him. Someone that had something to do with all of this. Someone Ed didn't want to have anywhere near him.</p><p>Roy stood up, brushing snow from his trousers as his anger flared. "Alright, gentlemen. Let's bring him home."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Chapter 38</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>There reaches a point where you believe it can't get any worse.</em>
</p><p>The footsteps returned and Ed curled up tighter, doing all in his power to become invisible, but something took hold of his automail arm and yanked him up, drawing the limb high over his head and leaving his body exposed. Ed gasped and strained against the hold, but the grip was unrelenting. "Let go," he whimpered, begged.</p><p>
  <em>When you get past that point, they call it a nightmare.</em>
</p><p>The knife split the skin between his ribs, hot and vicious, drawing a strangled scream from his lips.</p><p>"Brother?" Al's sweet voice rang out.</p><p>Ed's blind eyes widened. Al? Alphonse was right here, in the basement?! "Alphonse, get out of here!" he screamed, the words gnarled by his panic. Not his baby brother. Nothing like this could happen to his baby brother.</p><p>
  <em>When you pass that, well, then it must be called purgatory.</em>
</p><p>"Brother, do you trust me?" Alphonse asked, not a trace of fear in his voice. He sounded calm, serene, like he was sure of himself. Like he had no reason to be scared.</p><p>Ed allowed himself to hope, pressing his face to the wall, trying to stifle a panicked, pained whimper. If Al thought it was okay, maybe it <em>was</em> okay. Maybe he'd just been lost in his head again. Was he back at Mustang's? In the dorms? Maybe he was safe. Al knew. Al would tell him.</p><p>His flesh hand cradled his side, fingers slick with blood.</p><p>Not right.</p><p>
  <em>What was past that, then? What did that make this?</em>
</p><p>"Yes, Al," he gasped.</p><p>
  <em>He didn't need much time to think it over. He knew exactly what this was. </em>
</p><p>"Maybe you shouldn't."</p><p>
  <em>This was hell. </em>
</p><p>The metal arm was ripped, torn, shattered. Pain lanced through his body like lightening, sharp and jagged and bright, easily making him forget about the cuts in his side. A scream shredded his throat before something collided with his jaw, forcefully silencing him with shock. He fell backwards through space, hitting the hard ground and the collar around his neck chocked him at this angle, but he couldn't do anything about it.</p><p>"What a pathetic sight," Al continued, voice cold, just like the basement. "How are you going to get my body back like that, Brother?"</p><p>Ed's body writhed in pain, lungs straining to take in more air but unable to do so. Half of his mind wanted to protest this, embrace the nagging feeling that this wasn't right. Something was off, because everything wasn't stacking up, but his mind was still too scrambled to figure out what the discrepancy was.</p><p>The other half of his mind accepted this as pure, undeniable truth, accepting wholeheartedly what his senses were telling him.</p><p>Of course Al hated him. It only made sense, because Ed had lost his body, and now couldn't even try to fix it. It made sense for Al to find out and be angry. He wouldn't save him from this basement, and Ed didn't deserve it.</p><p>He would walk away. Just like Mustang. Just like everyone else who mattered.</p><p>"But maybe I'll forgive you."</p><p>Something nudged his body, pushing him aside so the collar wasn't quite as tight around his neck. His aching lungs took in a few greedy breathes before footsteps moved in front of him.</p><p>"Yes, maybe I'll forgive you," Al said, and Ed dared to hope.</p><p>Thick leather fingers wrapped around his throat, snaking beneath the collar, and all reason was lost to him. Because he knew it only took thirty-three pounds of pressure to crush a trachea, and Alphonse was angry enough to kill him.</p><p>His throat was closed, forced shut by his brother's angry hand and Ed struggled, half his body still spasming from the destroyed automail, the other trying desperately to free himself from the hold. His lungs strained, but couldn't draw breath. If Ed could see, he knew his vision would be tunneling, but it almost seemed like the blackness spun, oxygen starvation finally taking hold of him. His muscles burned.</p><p>"You're nothing now, Edward," Al hissed.</p><p>Ed's struggling weakened, hand clawing only weakly at his brother's wrist.</p><p>"Nothing but a blind dog. You did this to yourself."</p><p>His ears rang, but Alphonse's voice punched through mercilessly, suffocating his soul even as the grip on his throat suffocated his body.</p><p>"Pathetic. Useless. I'm better off without you."</p><p>The voice was farther away, but painfully clear.</p><p>"I hate you."</p><p>Hope that Ed didn't realize he possessed shattered somewhere in his soul. The spark of will that had sustained him for his months in this place died, snuffed out by the simple proclamation.</p><p>Because if he couldn't help Alphonse, then there was no point in his existence.</p><p>His hands fell to his side, slowly. Slowly he relaxed into the grip, the deathly embrace.</p><p>It was alright, if Al did it. His life had always been Alphonse's, in a way. It was a fitting end.</p><p>After all, what was left to live for? He couldn't save his brother. Mustang didn't want him. He was completely helpless now, handicapped to the point of worthlessness. Without his brother, he was nothing. It had always been that way, only now more pronounced.</p><p>Yes, Alphonse was better off without him. He could die knowing that.</p><p>He could hear his heart beat in his ears, blood rushing in a desperate attempt to keep his body alive. He felt the burning in his chest finally lessen, like he was distanced from it somehow. Like he wasn't a part of the pain anymore.</p><p>Finally, when the pain was gone, he knew it was over.</p><p>Ed smiled.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Red.</p><p>It was the only comprehensible detail Roy was able to discern.</p><p>The floor was smeared with blood, the wooden floorboards stained in the grisly fluid like some macabre painting.</p><p>Once his eyes saw it, it was like his mind took a step back, time slowing down, letting him drink in the horror in front of him with terrible clarity and precision.</p><p>It was a typical house near the warehouse district, where people would rather keep their heads down than ask questions, and gunshots were met with sympathetic winces instead of police calls. No one would question a few screams in a place like this, and it wasn't too far from the alley they had found Ed's footprints in. Breda and Havoc were able to pick out the new set of tracks in the fresh snow, and the three of them had followed it all the way here.</p><p>It was a small house, probably only two or three rooms. The floors and walls were wood and rotting, cobwebs and dust coating every surface and wind whistling through a dozen cracks in the walls. There was no furniture and no light, save the fire crackling happily in its hearth, and the gleam from a single chain bolted to the far wall.</p><p>A chain, attached to a collar. Attached around the neck of a small blond boy, crumpled on the floor, unconscious or worse. The boy had no clothes, half his limbs missing and blood leaking out of his side and smeared on his body, pooling on the floor beneath him.</p><p>Edward.</p><p>His subordinate.</p><p>
  <em>His son.</em>
</p><p>There was someone standing over him. A slim form, dressed in black garb that left his stomach exposed, long green hair falling past his waist in unnatural spikes. Most of his legs were bare, and when he shifted to glance over his shoulder, Roy caught sight of it—a small, red tattoo high on his left thigh. A dragon eating itself in an eternal loop.</p><p>An oroboros. That could only mean one thing.</p><p>Homunculus.</p><p>The monster's face split into a huge grin.</p><p>"Well, look who it is!" he exclaimed, turning fully to face him, hands on his hips. "I thought you'd be locked up safe and sound in prison by now."</p><p>Blood pounded in Roy's ears, anger and terror twisting in his gut like snakes. His eyes were locked on Edward and he was unable to tear them away, searching desperately for any signs of life.</p><p>That was Ed. Edward Elric, the boy that had already lost so much, endured too much. This wasn't allowed to happen to him again. There was no sense in it, no reason, no Equivalent Exchange to be found.</p><p>His hands shook and even as Havoc and Breda came up behind him and drew their guns, Roy couldn't move.</p><p><em>"Why?"</em> he managed, past a clenched jaw and a dry throat. The word was gnarled and deformed, like spitting up metal. It sounded nothing like his voice.</p><p>The monster smiled. "This is all your fault, you know. If you and the little brat had stayed out of Father's business, none of this would have happened. You should have kept your dog on a tighter leash, Mustang. Then he wouldn't be heading for a padded room and you wouldn't be headed for the slammer."</p><p>The words jumbled and fell over themselves in Roy's frantic mind, forming and reforming, trying to fit into the paradigm of his perceived reality. They made no sense. Who was Father? What did he have to do with anything? How did that even begin to relate to what this <em>thing</em> had done to Ed?</p><p>"I think I might have gone a bit overboard," the creature mused, voice mild as if he were talking about dinner. The tone jarred Roy from his thoughts much the same as a car wreck might. Roy watched as the green-haired man nudged Ed's arm with one bare foot.</p><p><em>"Don't touch him," </em>Roy snarled, the words leaving his lips in a vicious fury as he took one step forward.</p><p>The homunculus looked up at Roy, mouth pulled down, considering.</p><p>Then the smile returned.</p><p>"You mean, don't do this?" He picked up a foot and brought it down on the boy's hand.</p><p>Roy could only watch as the monster smashed Ed's only flesh hand against the wooden floorboards. He could have sworn he heard something snap, the floor creaking under the pressure.</p><p>Roy didn't quite understand how he had crossed the room so fast, but he was within striking distance in less than a second. He hauled back and hit the creature across the face, knuckles striking skin and bone with a satisfying crack, forcing the homunculus' head aside.</p><p>It froze there.</p><p>Then, slowly, the creature turned back around, red lightening sparking and completely healing the bruise that had only just begun to taint its cheekbone. The monster locked black eyes on him and that same gleeful smile split his face, sending an involuntary chill down Roy's spine. "Alright, Mustang, if that's how you want to play. <em>My turn!"</em></p><p>Roy didn't have time to even react as a fist made contact with his gut, the force of it knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the ground, pain erupting all through his insides.</p><p>He was distantly aware of Havoc and Breda opening fire, guns barking even as Roy tried to get his feet underneath him, and his injured body tried to draw breath. His vision tilted for just a moment, then righted in time for Roy to assess what was happening.</p><p>The creature had stepped past him, headed for his subordinates still standing in the doorway. Edward lay just out of his reach, not even flinching as the sound of gunshots split the air time and again. But Roy could make out the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the relief he felt almost had him collapsing back to the ground.</p><p>Edward was alive. He was injured, but he was still breathing. If he was still breathing, then that meant that there was a chance. There was a chance of this all turning out alright. As long as the boy was still breathing, Roy had a chance to do something right by him. Roy had a chance to make up for all the times he had let him down.</p><p>There was a chance that Roy could be redeemed. And there was a chance that Ed could be saved.</p><p>Roy stumbled to his feet, squared his shoulders and snapped.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed thought it was strange that even though he was dead, there was something bothering him.</p><p>It was a tickle in his ears, like hearing noises when your head was under water. It was far away and murky, and Ed really just wanted to ignore it. It wasn't much trouble to sink back into the dark embrace of death, if that's what it was. All he had to do was keep going . . .</p><p>"Just like that?"</p><p>Ed flinched, turning around in the blackness to see a familiar face. One he hadn't seen in months, but still knew like he knew his mother's own visage.</p><p>Colonel Mustang stood there, dressed smartly in his uniform, pristine gloves covering his strong hands and a challenge in his dark eyes. Behind him, there wasn't blackness anymore, but fire. The flames leapt high in the air, licking at Mustang's back like a dog at its master's heels. It was wild and hot and Ed instinctively wanted to shy away from it.</p><p>Ed nodded to the familiar hallucination. "Just like that." He turned to look the way he had been heading just moments previous. Inky blackness, soft and warm, flooded the pathway. It would be easy to get lost in. It would be easy to let go.</p><p>"The Fullmetal I know is no quitter," Mustang challenged, voice ringing like struck iron.</p><p>Ed ducked under the conviction of it, turning to give his commanding officer a weak glare. "The Fullmetal you know doesn't exist anymore, Mustang. It's over. I lost. I can accept that, why can't you?"</p><p>Mustang approached, imposing in his height and his fury. Ed took an involuntary step back, but Mustang effortlessly closed the gap. "My men and I are back there risking our lives while trying to save your sorry life, and this is the thanks we get? <em>This?!</em> You slinking off to your sweet cushy death like a coward and leaving us to pick up the pieces? Good men are seconds away from giving their life for you!"</p><p><em>"What am I supposed to do?!"</em> Ed screamed back, his own voice cutting through the air over the roar of flame. Ed felt months of pent up frustration and pain, all of it flooding him, filling his chest, spilling past his lips in terrified words and down his face in angry tears. "I'm blind! I'm hurt . . . I don't have half of my limbs. What do you want me to do, roll over Envy's toes?" The words were like hot stones, choking him with his own desperation. "I'm <em>useless</em> now," he sobbed. "<em>Useless</em> . . . So you tell me, Mustang . . . <em>you</em> tell <em>me</em>. What am I supposed to do now, now that I'm less than nothing? What . . . what now?"</p><p>He was sobbing, crying in front of Mustang uncontrollably like he had now countless times before. He didn't even have his pride left. There was nothing. No point, no reason, nothing.</p><p>"You're right."</p><p>The words caught Ed off guard. Ed blinked tears out of his eyes as he looked up at Mustang, the man he admired most in the whole world. He looked up at him and saw him staring down at Ed with firm but gentle eyes, the fury all but gone now. "You're right. If you think your worth can be summed up to your silly alchemy tricks and a pair of steel limbs, then you're absolutely right; you're useless now. You can go ahead and die. We'll all move on eventually. Even Alphonse might be able to recover enough to lead a somewhat normal life, after a few years of therapy and maybe some psychiatric medication.</p><p><em>"But,"</em> Mustang whispered, one hand grabbing a fistful of Ed's shirt and yanking him close, eyes gleaming inches from Ed's face. <em>"But,</em> if you think for just even one second that maybe you are more than that— that maybe you aren't just alchemy and limbs, but a flesh and blood human being that makes a <em>difference</em>— then you had better follow me the way I came in. Because I'm not about to sacrifice my life for a bag of steel limbs and alchemy and your eyesight. I'm about to give my life for a child that has made a difference in my life and the lives of every single person he comes into contact with. I am giving my life for <em>you</em>, Edward Elric, and you had <em>better</em> be around to appreciate it."</p><p>Mustang shoved him roughly away and Ed stumbled to get his feet under him.</p><p>"Wait!" he called out, but it was too late. Mustang was already halfway through the fire and disappearing fast. The blue of his uniform was finally swallowed in the inferno and all that was left were the flames and Mustang's haunting words.</p><p>Ed turned to look at the blackness.</p><p>It was the easy way out. It was the logical thing to do, something that would have been as easy as breathing. Just keep walking and fall asleep. He could leave it all behind, stop the hurting and the fear once and for all. He could rest.</p><p>He glanced back the way he had come, through fire and pain.</p><p>There was no logic to be had there, nothing easy about the trip. There was a slim chance at a happy ending, and there was an enduring promise of agony the whole way through. There was no rest to be found there.</p><p>No rest, and yet . . . maybe Mustang had a point. Maybe . . . maybe he could still make a difference. Maybe there was more to it than limbs and alchemy. Maybe the Fullmetal Alchemist could go beyond what he'd thought possible. Maybe he could still pull through and save the lives of his friends.</p><p>And if not he, then perhaps Edward Elric could.</p><p>Ed spared one last look at the shadows before throwing himself into the fire.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Chapter 39</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roy had never been good at close combat. It was something Hawkeye had seemed to make her personal mission to correct, but despite her dogged training, Roy could rarely land a decent hit, and spent most of their training time trying to get away from her heavy rain of blows. As such, he relied heavily on his alchemy to keep opponents at bay and at a comfortable striking distance, and sometimes, that reliance came back to bite him.</p><p>Like now.</p><p>Roy shot another wave of fire the homunculus easily dodged, dancing back lightly to avoid the damaging burst. The flame hit the side wall, the rotting wood catching like old tinder.</p><p>"Go!" Roy shouted.</p><p>Havoc and Breda immediately responded, both diving inside the tiny shack behind Roy and heading for Ed. Roy hadn't had much time to watch, but he could have sworn that for a minute, Ed's chest had stopped rising and falling, and the cold fear stole Roy's breath away.</p><p>His men quickly got to work freeing Ed, and Roy didn't have any more time to think about it. The creature was coming again, and Roy sent another flame in the monster's direction as it leapt forward.</p><p>Roy finally managed to land a glancing hit on his left side, the rest of the flame arching past and catching the ceiling ablaze. The homunculus shrieked, the force of Roy's hit sending him sprawling off course. His body collapsed to the ground, red lightening quickly lapping up the wound. <em>"Fool!"</em> he snarled, staggering to his feet. "You'll bring this house down on top of you, too!" Some of that cursed mirth had finally left his expression, the cocky smile transforming into an angry snarl as he charged forward.</p><p>Roy hit him again, this time square in the abdomen.</p><p>The homunculus let out a string of curses as his body smoked and the lightening sparked. "I'm going to kill you, you worthless human <em>filth!"</em></p><p>Roy sent three more blasts in rapid succession, each one striking the homunculus and now the floor was on fire.</p><p>Black smoke billowed from the flames, concealing the homunculus and roiling up and across the ceiling like a dark, violent sea. The heat seared Roy's face and the rest of his exposed skin and he raised an arm to shield his eyes from the burn as he scanned the floor for his opponent.</p><p>"Sir!"</p><p>Havoc's panicked voice had him turning sharply, just in time to catch a glimpse of Ed, struggling in his rescuers' arms, and Breda and Havoc both looking up above Roy's head with horror.</p><p>Something fell on him. It was heavy and he was on the floor in a tangle of limbs before he could register more than the flash of dark green.</p><p>Roy struggled frantically as his assailant grabbed at him. The creature was much stronger than he, though, and it didn't take long for it to have him, one hand wrapped tightly around his throat.</p><p>Roy tried to wrest away from the grip, but the pressure increased to something unbearable and Roy immediately stopped struggling as it grew decidedly more difficult to breathe.</p><p>"Well, well, well," the monster purred. "Guess you're not exactly as strong as Father thought you were."</p><p>Roy opened his mouth to reply, but the hand gripped tighter.</p><p>"Shut up!" he snarled. "I've just about lost my patience with you, Flame Alchemist."</p><p>Roy clawed at the hand, but the creature didn't seem to even notice. Roy's lungs burned and his vision swam.</p><p>The homunculus narrowed his eyes, considering. "I don't think you'd be half as much trouble if I ripped one of your limbs off. Father might not be too happy, but that's what he gets for giving stupid orders." His other hand snaked underneath Roy's elbow. The grip on his throat loosened, and he gasped in a full breath.</p><p>Just in time to scream.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed gasped as he awoke, pain flooding his senses and lungs spasming as if he had held his breath for way too long.</p><p>
  <em>Or stopped breathing entirely . . .</em>
</p><p>He shoved the thought aside as he finally became aware of his surroundings.</p><p>There was a lot of scuffing and sliding coming from just a few feet away, accompanied by grunts and dull roaring that was terribly familiar. Heat burned his bare skin, barely noticeable against the backdrop of agony his body was writhing in. The place stank of smoke and blood, and fear spiked through his heart at the familiarity of it.</p><p>"Go!" a voice shouted, making him jump even as he recognized it.</p><p>
  <em>Mustang.</em>
</p><p>Then footsteps approached, coming at him in a swift lope. The floorboards jerked underneath him and Ed tried to get away, but he only succeeded on choking himself again, the collar pulling tight.</p><p>"Easy, Ed!" a voice ordered, this one a low tenor and very familiar.</p><p>Panic had a strong hold on him, though, and he couldn't place the voice, so he did his best to scramble back from it.</p><p>"Elric, it's me, Breda!" another voice chimed in. "It's me and Havoc. We're going to get you out of here."</p><p>All very familiar voices, and yet . . .</p><p>And yet he knew he couldn't trust them.</p><p>
  <em>"I'm done with you, Fullmetal."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You're nothing now, Edward. Nothing but a blind dog."</em>
</p><p>Something latched onto his arm.</p><p>Ed clamped down on a scream, instead turning and digging his teeth into flesh.</p><p>Someone else cried out now, but then more hands grabbed at him. They weren't as rough as he had been expecting, but he knew they couldn't be friendly. Not in this place. He struggled weakly, the remainder of his steel limbs flailing uselessly as he did all in his power to escape.</p><p>A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his head aside as the collar rattled against his neck, increasing his panic. His only arm held him up while he tried to push away whatever was holding him, but he only got a grunt in response to his frail attempt.</p><p>A hissed curse. "We don't have time for this!" the voice that sounded like Havoc snarled.</p><p>"Just hold him down! I've almost got it!" Breda's voice responded.</p><p>Something secured his leg and Ed couldn't move anymore.</p><p>The racket off to the side grinded to a sudden halt after an ear-splitting shriek cut through the air.</p><p>Then, a terrible voice spoke up. <em>"Fool! </em>You'll bring this house down on top of you, too!"</p><p>A snap and a roar and Ed knew exactly where Mustang was.</p><p>There was cursing and scraping and the sound of flesh sizzling as the fire found its target. Heat grazed over Ed's face and smoke burned in his lungs.</p><p>"I'm going to kill you, you worthless human <em>filth!"</em></p><p>More snaps and more fire and Ed was pulled up from the ground by Breda and Havoc. Ed twisted in their arms, trying to get his leg underneath him, but they didn't allow it. But he had to get to Mustang. Mustang didn't know what he was up against. Envy wouldn't just let them walk out of there.</p><p>The fire was soon roaring, sounding much bigger and much more powerful than it had. He choked on the acrid stench of it as he was pulled away from Mustang.</p><p>Then Breda and Havoc froze. Ed heard both of them take a sharp breath and Havoc shout, "Sir!"</p><p>Fear gripped Ed's chest, and for once, it had nothing to do with himself.</p><p><em>"Let go!"</em> he gasped, twisting and bucking, even as he heard something heavy hit the ground not far away, but Breda and Havoc didn't even seem to notice his weak struggles. They were focused on the scuffle not far away. Ed could hear it clearly over the hiss of fire as it popped and crackled and ate away at the basement.</p><p>Then, it stopped.</p><p>"Well, well, well," Envy's voice said—that awful voice that sent cold creeping up Ed's spine. "Guess you're not exactly as strong as Father thought you were."</p><p>A pained gasp.</p><p>"Shut up!" Envy snarled. "I've just about lost my patience with you, Flame Alchemist."</p><p>There was a long pause, in which all Ed could hear were the flames and quick, shallow breathing.</p><p>"I don't think you'd be half as much trouble if I ripped one of your limbs off. Father might not be too happy, but that's what he gets for giving stupid orders."</p><p>Mustang.</p><p>Ed tore free, hitting the ground hard enough to draw a strangled cry from his cracked lips.</p><p>Then, three things happened in rapid succession:</p><p>Mustang screamed.</p><p>Envy laughed.</p><p>Edward Elric performed alchemy.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Lost in a burning haze of pain, Roy didn't notice that Envy had dropped his dislocated arm and taken a few steps back until he heard the distinct whine of alchemy.</p><p>Like snapping a camera lens into focus, Roy captured the scene in his mind in vivid detail.</p><p>The flames of his fire, eating away at the house and casting bright light and dark shadows across the splintered floor.</p><p>Havoc and Breda, frozen, arms outstretched and panic shining in their eyes.</p><p>The homunculus, hovering just to his side, body streaked with soot and expression stunned.</p><p>Edward Elric, face lit up like a hollowed-out angel as bright lightening hissed and cracked over the remains of his arm, emitting from a tiny, crude circle traced in blood on his chest.</p><p>The ruined automail stretched and contorted, and Ed cried out, holding on to the wall as the alchemy rebounded, causing the half-arm to twist to the side, grazing flesh and mangling steel as it did. It finally stilled, lightening flickering over the failed transmutation and leaving Ed grasping the limb and whimpering.</p><p>The monster at Roy's side let loose a braying laugh. "What a <em>sight!</em> Can't even transmute your own arm, huh? Guess you can't do much of anything." He turned black eyes on Roy. "As soon as I finish having my fun with Mustang, I'll finish up with you."</p><p>Ed's whimper warped into an enraged snarl as he wiped away the circle on his chest and sketched another one, blind eyes helpless to guide his shanking hand.</p><p>This time, the arm righted itself, aiming ahead, turning only slightly to the side as it ended in a sharp blade at the end of his elbow. It didn't just grow forward, though. It snaked back up to his port, digging into the flesh behind it and drawing a stream of blood and a scream.</p><p>"Okay, fine then," the homunculus said, stepping forward. "I'll deal with you first."</p><p>Roy opened his mouth to shout, to tell Edward to get away, to run, <em>something</em>, but it was forestalled by the green-haired man digging his hands into Roy's hair and yanking his head back. "Don't go getting any ideas, now," he hissed, ripping the gloves off Roy's hands, jostling his arm terribly and he choked back a pained cry.</p><p>"Alright, Fullmetal Pipsqueak, your move."</p><p>Anger washed over Ed's pained expression, the last vestiges of fear that had haunted it for months finally melting from his visage. Like mud cleaned from a window to allow the sun to shine through, Roy saw a light that he hadn't seen in a long time.</p><p>He saw the Fullmetal Alchemist, and hope burned inside of him where it had died before.</p><p>Faded gold blazed and Ed snarled, <em>"Come and get me, Envy."</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Chapter 40</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Edward had noticed over the years that people made a lot of assumptions.</p><p>They assumed that since Alphonse was taller, he must be the older brother.</p><p>They assumed that because he hated milk, he had stunted his growth.</p><p>They assumed that because he was a State Alchemist, he had sold his soul to the military.</p><p>All of these assumptions were arrived at using common sense and deductive reasoning. The conclusions were highly likely, and yet completely wrong.</p><p>And perhaps if presented with the current scenario, people might assume that a blind, half-mangled kid couldn't possibly win or even <em>survive</em> a fight against the inhuman powers of a homunculus.</p><p>But Edward liked to think that, despite the evidence otherwise, he could prove them wrong once again. Because he wasn't just a blind and beaten kid. He was the Fullmetal Alchemist.</p><p>And he had people depending on him.</p><p>Despite the roar of fire and the crackle of wood, Ed could distinctly hear bare feet slapping against the floor. They were running, coming in close, and at the last possible moment, Ed hit the ground.</p><p>The wall behind him cracked as the homunculus hit it head on.</p><p>Splinters of wood and debris rained down on Ed, and something alive brushed past his foot as he scrambled to get out from under the monster.</p><p><em>"Ed, move!"</em> Mustang screamed.</p><p>Ed rolled over, just in time to hear something split the floorboards inches from his head.</p><p>"Just stay still and we can get this over with!" Envy said from above.</p><p>Gunshots rang out, the sound startling enough to make Ed jump. He sat up, swinging his automail blade wide as he did. The metal connected with something fleshy, drawing a shriek from Envy. Ed clambered back, but not before a hand latched onto his ankle.</p><p>"Useless <em>brat!"</em> he spat over the fire and the gunshots, rage and malice dripping from his voice like liquid poison. "Where do you think you're crawling off to?!"</p><p>The gunfire died, then footsteps. <em>"Get away from him!" </em>Havoc roared before a gun clicked and fired a single shot.</p><p>The hand released Ed with a yelp and Ed crawled away, his progress painfully slow when he knew the enraged homunculus was a breath behind him.</p><p>He had to get back on his feet. He didn't stand a chance on the floor.</p><p>There was a scuffle behind Ed, ending with a sharp cry and Mustang's terrified voice. <em>"Havoc!" </em></p><p>Something heavy fell to the floor and Ed swallowed back his fear.</p><p>Ed crawled faster than he thought possible, his limbs, both metal and flesh, aching and hurting, his automail burning in the heat of the fire. "Mustang?!"</p><p>"I'm coming!" he hissed, voice ragged and pained and laced with desperation. Ed moved toward the sound of him, all too aware of what was happening behind him.</p><p>Something wrapped around his ankle.</p><p>"No!" Mustang cried, but Ed was already being dragged backwards. He tried to gain purchase on the ground, the wooden floor splintering under his fingernails, but his swollen hand would barely close, much less halt Envy's pulling.</p><p>"Get back here, Pipsqueak!" Envy snapped. "I'm not finished with you!"</p><p>Ed was airborne, suspended only by his throbbing ankle for a brief moment until his head collided with something solid.</p><p>His head spun and his ears rang and he panicked.</p><p>Without his hearing, he was dead.</p><p>Where was Mustang?</p><p>He thought he heard voices, coming through like sounds from a dying radio. They were inconsistent and terribly muffled. He tried to crawl toward the lower one, the one that had to be Mustang's, but his only full arm buckled under him and his chest hit the floor with a sharp exhale.</p><p>Something pressed down hard on his back.</p><p>" . . . whe . . . ie . . . stu . . . an."</p><p>Ed was fairly certain he was being explained to the manner in which he was going to die.</p><p>He fought for a breath underneath the weight, lungs throbbing, heart hammering in his ears.</p><p>Then, the weight was gone.</p><p>
  <em>"Run!"</em>
</p><p>Breda's scream was piercing in its panic, easily singing over the noise in his ears. The command seemed to bring the spinning to a sudden halt, the static in his head decreasing by the barest amount.</p><p>He tried to get up, then fell.</p><p>A hand clamped around his broken one, hauling him to his feet. He started to struggle, but a familiar scent hit him.</p><p>Earth and mesquite. He'd know that smell anywhere.</p><p>"I've got you, Ed," Mustang hissed in his ear, a fierce promise, a silent command.</p><p>
  <em>Trust me.</em>
</p><p>And after all this, after everything, Ed didn't hesitate.</p><p>
  <em>I do.</em>
</p><p>A hand wrapped around the remains of his automail and raised it high.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Roy leveled Ed's automail in front of them both, just in time for Envy to impale himself.</p><p>The homunculus hit with enough force to send Roy flat on his back, Ed's emaciated body crushed between him and the monster's weight.</p><p>Roy had enough time to register the victorious gleam in the demon's eye only inches from Roy's own, its mouth twisted in a grotesque grin hardly marred by pain. "Guess this is it for the both of you, Mustang!"</p><p>Roy offered a grim smile of his own before snapping his fingers.</p><p>The shredded scrap of ignition glove he had saved from the burning floorboards emitted a spark, and the circle carved on the back of his hand did the rest.</p><p>The reaction traveled from Roy's fingertips, down Ed's destroyed automail and into the creature's body, delivered to its very core by Ed's own hand.</p><p>Roy decided that it was fitting that way.</p><p>The monster's self-satisfied smirk quickly turned into terrified realization as the reaction began pulling every trace of oxygen from every corner of its body.</p><p>With a booted foot, Roy shoved the beast away, the body slipping off Ed's automail like a fish from a hook. Roy had his only functional arm wrapped protectively around Edward as he shuffled back, dragging the injured boy as far as he could before the inevitable.</p><p>It didn't have time to scream. Its lungs had long since collapsed. Roy heard its eardrums burst as the pressure in its head decreased dramatically, streams of blood running from wide eyes and gaping mouth.</p><p><em>"How?"</em> it mouthed, the word soundless over bleeding lips, eyes wide and incredulous.</p><p>Mustang's returning grin was as fierce as it was triumphant.</p><p>Then the homunculus exploded.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>The rest of the night was a blur, one second melting into the next and each breath a laborious endeavor. Half the time Roy wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep. The only constant Roy was aware of was an arm wrapped around his, a small, broken hand gingerly grasping his sleeve as they sat in the dark among burning embers, holding on to one another as the snow whispered down through part of the missing roof.</p><p>When the paramedics arrived, Edward would not be taken from his side. After trying to assure the medic that he could walk and failing miserably, Roy was helped to his feet. Leaning heavily on a pair of young men, Roy followed along with one hand on Ed's gurney through the remains of the house, overly aware of the way the snow sizzled on hot coals and the steam glowing in the faint light as they were led out a gaping hole where a wall once stood.</p><p>A moan drifted through the air and Roy turned to see them unearthing Havoc from a pile of debris. He absently wondered if he was alright, and if he had always looked that pale. Ed was loaded up on a gurney, Silas giving orders as the emaciated boy was buried in blankets and an IV slipped into his only wrist. Havoc's motionless body was placed beside the boy, and Breda piled in on the bench beside Havoc, blood pouring down his face from a gash somewhere above his hairline like a demon's claws. The fire had evaporated with the explosion, and Roy vaguely noted that freezing to death was more likely now than death by fire.</p><p>Medics helped Roy climb in. Breda moved his lips, eyes on Roy's own, but Roy couldn't seem to make sense of what he was saying. A man flashed a light in his eye and he winced and looked away, gaze locking on the shallow rise and fall of Ed's chest instead. Ed's faint grip tightened around his elbow ever so slightly, blind eyes staring vacant at the ceiling above.</p><p>Roy kept his hand on Ed's sleeve the whole way to the hospital.</p><p>When they arrived, they were separated, and Roy would be lying if he said Ed was the only one distressed at the situation.</p><p>A nurse guided him down another hallway, and Roy was a bit confused when his vision started spinning and he promptly vomited on the scuffed white tiles. Before he fully grasped what was happening, he found himself lying in a bed with crisp white sheets.</p><p>Hawkeye was there, and Roy tried to order her to stay with Ed, but the words seemed too thick and too big to push past his lips. Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder and the look in her sherry eyes was enough to calm the rushing in his mind.</p><p>Then a nurse pushed a needle into an IV he didn't remember receiving. He didn't recall much after that.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Chapter 41</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Roy was lucid enough, he found out that in addition to a dislocated arm, bruised trachea, lung damage from smoke inhalation and a hundred superficial wounds, he had sustained a concussion. He was kept bedridden for three days with a pair of MPs outside his door at all times. On the third day, they disappeared. When he asked Hawkeye about it during her next visit, she simply said that the Fuhrer had cleared him.</p><p>Roy pulled the oxygen mask down from his face. "Cleared me?" he asked, voice raw and scratchy and painful.</p><p>Hawkeye gave him a look that was as incredulous as he felt. "Feury as well. General Grumman came by yesterday. He said they found Archer the morning after Ed went missing. He was dead in his room."</p><p>"Dead?" Roy asked dumbly, mind spinning to process the words beneath the haze of the concussion and pain medication. How could he be dead? Why would he be dead? And how did that exonerate Roy of the murders of the MP Charlie Riggs and Nicoli Vasovik? Or Ed's supposed kidnapping?</p><p>"Murdered." Hawkeye supplied. "I was not allowed to see the ME report, but Second Lieutenant Ross accidentally left the case file behind on Falman's desk for a good half hour before remembering and returning for it."</p><p>Roy gave her half a smile. "Oh? That was careless of her."</p><p>"Completely thoughtless," Hawkeye agreed, expression giving away nothing. She continued, "Archer was stabbed by a long blade, or possibly a pair. The cause of death was blood loss when both carotid arteries were severed, most likely simultaneously in a scissor cut with two blades." She mimed the murder, crossing her wrists at her neck with index fingers extended, then drawing them across the base of her pale throat in an 'x'. "The positioning of the body and the manner of execution suggests that the attacker was someone he knew. He had no chance or no will to defend himself. A confession letter was found at the scene, saying he was responsible for the deaths of Riggs, Vasovik and Edward's disappearance."</p><p>"That's quite the coincidence." Roy glanced up at the white ceiling tiles, mind sluggishly coming to conclusions he didn't like. "Any suspects?"</p><p>"No one that anybody with a scrap of sense would care to point fingers at," she said, voice heavy with warning.</p><p>Roy tried to raise his eyebrows in a picture of innocence. "Hawkeye, I'm quite certain that I have no idea what you are implying."</p><p>"Sir—"</p><p>Roy didn't want to think about all of it now. "How's Havoc doing?"</p><p>She frowned at him to let him know that he didn't fool her before answering. "He's doing fine, considering the circumstances. He's going to be bedridden for a few more days, though." Havoc had sustained a host of internal injuries and broken ribs from blunt force trauma, and the internal bleeding had almost cost him his life. His spleen had ruptured and had to be removed immediately upon arrival to the hospital, and he had to have almost eight liters of blood pumped into his system before they were able to get the bleeding under control. He had a long road ahead of him. It made Roy sick to think it had all happened on his watch because of his own carelessness.</p><p>"Breda?"</p><p>"He's getting out this afternoon," she informed. "They said his oxygen levels are holding just fine." Breda had managed to avoid serious injury, and it always surprised Roy just how fast the man was, despite his portly appearance. The worst he had were a few burns from the fire Roy had generously supplied.</p><p>Roy always hated asking the last question.</p><p>"And Ed?"</p><p>Her eyes darkened a bit, but she held his gaze. "Physically, he's healing, though he is still refusing food and is receiving nutrients intravenously until he is able to manage on his own. He still hasn't said a word. Silas said it could be related to the trauma."</p><p>Roy tried to suppress his sudden nausea. After all this . . . after everything, it still wasn't over. It wasn't fair. "How long will this last?"</p><p>She shook her head. "There's no way to tell. No one can even tell for certain if it's involuntary or if he just doesn't want to speak."</p><p>"I want to see him."</p><p>"As soon as Silas clears you to get up."</p><p>"Which should be today!"</p><p>The new voice had Roy turning his head much too fast, sending his vision swimming. He raised his good hand to rub at his eyes with a groan.</p><p>"Or we could postpone if needed . . ." Silas trailed off.</p><p>"No, today's good," Roy assured him, gingerly opening his eyes to see the small doctor now at the foot of his bed, flipping through his medical file.</p><p>"Alright, then!" Silas said, scribbling something then looking up at Roy, blue eyes bright. "Well, your stats look good, blood pressure normal, oxygen looks decent for you not wearing your mask for the past fifteen minutes," he informed with a grin.</p><p>"Then I don't need it anymore?"</p><p>Silas kept the grin. "You'll be wearing it when you sleep for the rest of the week, at least."</p><p>Roy rolled his eyes. "So, can I get up now?"</p><p>"Well, as long as you use the wheelchair, I think it would be good for you to get out of this room." It must have shown on Roy's face what he thought about wheelchairs, because Silas chuckled. "It won't be that bad. It sure beats spending another day in bed, yes?"</p><p>"I suppose."</p><p>"Well, I'll send the physical therapist down to get you situated after lunch," Silas assured him, writing down something else. "For now, I suggest getting some more sleep." He gave Hawkeye a pointed look. "Getting up after three days horizontal is no picnic!"</p><p>Hawkeye smiled at him. "Thank you, Doctor. He'll get plenty of rest," she assured, passing on a warning look to Roy.</p><p>Silas turned heel and swept out the door, whistling as he went.</p><p>Roy groaned as he left. "I don't think I could sleep anymore if I <em>wanted</em> to."</p><p>"Do you need some motivation, sir?" Her hand moved to rest on her sidearm.</p><p>"On second thought, if you don't mind closing the door on your way out, I think I feel a nap coming on."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed had grown used to many things.</p><p>It had taken time, and it had taken the gentle voices of Hawkeye, Feury and Falman explaining them to him, but now he didn't have as many panic attacks, and he usually remembered where he was. He could recognize many things:</p><p>The quick steps of the night nurse as she changed his bedpan and replaced saline bags. The quiet voice of the day nurse that talked to him about how well he was doing as she changed his oxygen tank and redressed his wounds. He knew the squeak of Falman's boots and the sharp click of Hawkeye's and the timid shuffle that indicated Feury was going to be sitting beside him that day. He knew the beep of the heart monitor, the hiss of the breathing apparatus and Silas' cheery voice as he announced Ed's progress several times a day. He knew the clap of clipboards and the scratches of pencils and the crisp snap of bed linens being changed.</p><p>But this sound was new.</p><p>It sounded like the food carts that passed by his open door so often, but smoother and softer somehow, without the rattle of dishes. It was accompanied by a pair of steps, and Ed felt his unease grow, as he did not recognize these footsteps and they were coming closer.</p><p>They stopped at his bed, and a voice he didn't recognize spoke. "I'll be back later." Then the footsteps left.</p><p>He could hear breathing.</p><p>"Fullmetal."</p><p>All of the tension Ed had felt earlier left him in a rush.</p><p>Over the past three days, Ed had time to think about what had happened. He had spent careful thought trying to discern what had really transpired and what had been Envy's influence. Some of his memories were still too blurred or too painful to sort out, but Ed was sure that he had figured out most of it.</p><p>Except Mustang. Ed still hadn't figured him out.</p><p>He vividly remembered Archer visiting, promising to haul him off to some orphanage somewhere. He recalled Mustang telling him nothing of the sort would happen.</p><p>But he also remembered Mustang pulling away, growing distant. He remembered Mustang leaving him alone when Ed needed him most, abandoning him.</p><p>But he remembered Mustang there, fighting Envy with everything just to save Ed.</p><p>He remembered trusting him.</p><p>Ed didn't know which Mustang was the real one.</p><p>"Hawkeye said you haven't said a word since being here," Mustang began, tone almost casual. But Ed had listened closely to that voice for a long time, through sleepless nights and panic attacks, and he could hear the tension underneath the nonchalance. "Is there a reason for that?"</p><p>Ed didn't respond. There were actually two very good possible reasons. The first and foremost was the damage inflicted by inhaling far too much smoke and being half-strangled. It left his throat constantly dry and rough and even simple breathing could send him into a coughing fit that <em>hurt</em>. Swallowing was even more painful, despite the amount of painkillers he was most likely on.</p><p>The second possible reason, Ed could not determine or understand. He had read about—and experienced— Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and he knew it could do strange things to the mind and the body. Silas had hinted at that being the reason when Ed had opened his mouth to reply and nothing sounded. The doctor had explained that it was either from the physical damage, or that Ed's body still knew how to talk, his mind just made him forget for a little while. Ed had wanted to ask how long he would be without his voice, but without his sight and without a voice and without a hand, there wasn't much he could do to communicate.</p><p>Mustang sighed. "She also said you aren't eating. Again. What are we going to do with you, Fullmetal?"</p><p>Ed swallowed roughly, overly aware of the IV taped to the crook of his arm. He imagined the whole limb looked pretty wretched with his hand broken and a collection of painful, deep contusions running up and down his arm. He was certain the other side looked worse, though. Not only were the remains of his arm and leg automail detached, but a majority of the outer shell of his shoulder port had been surgically removed upon his arrival at the hospital. It seemed that performing alchemy blind with crudely drawn circles made of blood was actually a terrible idea. The rebound had damaged what little shoulder he had around the port and almost sent shrapnel into his carotid artery, according to Silas. He'd almost killed himself with that stupid stunt.</p><p>The stunt that saved Mustang's life.</p><p>"Ed, nod if you're listening to me," Mustang interrupted, his voice suddenly serious.</p><p>Ed jumped at the sudden order, quickly nodding out of reflex.</p><p>"I've got something I need to tell you, Ed . . . well, two things, really . . ." he trailed off, and Ed wished that he could see what Mustang was thinking. His voice was hesitant, distracted. Maybe even guilty.</p><p>Ed was suddenly wary. He shifted uncomfortably, but pain medication only took one so far, and the shooting pain down his body stopped him.</p><p>He felt a weight on his bed, like maybe Mustang was resting his elbows on the thin mattress. Ed wasn't sure what to expect, and he felt the tension in the room like a string pulled just a bit too tight.</p><p>"Ed, I . . . everything that's happened to you . . . all of this has been my fault."</p><p>Well, that was the last thing Ed had expected.</p><p>Ed didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to hear any of it, but like watching a train wreck, he couldn't break away from it. Some sort of macabre fascination kept him from ignoring the older man.</p><p>"I let you be sent up North," the words were forced and stiff, something unnatural wearing Mustang's voice. "I knew something wasn't right, but I let you go anyway. I should have known . . . I <em>did</em> know, I just didn't want to admit something like that was possible . . . and because of that, I almost lost you." His weight shifted, closer and pleading. "And then it took me so long to find you. I was useless . . . a wet match." The following laugh was short and mirthless. "Ed, I screwed up. In all kinds of ways. This whole thing is my fault, and I don't think I can ask you to forgive me. I can't even forgive myself for what I've done to you. All of this is my fault. All of it."</p><p>He sounded like a lost child, repeating it over and over again. Ed couldn't stand it.</p><p>He knew which Mustang was the real one.</p><p>And maybe he had known all along.</p><p>Before Ed could pause to think about it, he was speaking. "Don't . . ." Ed tried, the sound nothing but a rasp of air, his voice like sandpaper and his throat aching at the attempt. His voice sounded strange, deformed somehow, and just the effort of that one word had him stopping to rest his sore jaw.</p><p>He heard Mustang stiffen beside him and tried again, the first word barely a squeak in the oxygen mask before the next one followed. "Don't be . . . an idiot."</p><p>"Ed—"</p><p>Ed tried to tell him to shut up, but nothing but a whistle came out. He panted, tired from the exertion and frustrated with his inability to communicate. The mask over his mouth and nose were doing him no favors, either, but with one hand gone and the other too busted to move, he didn't have a lot of options. He took a breath and tried again. "S-stop." There. Less syllables than 'shut up,' anyway.</p><p>Mustang shifted. "I guess this might be a discussion for another day," he decided.</p><p>Ed wasn't finished. "For . . . give you."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>If Ed were able, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, speaking was exhausting. "I . . . forgive you."</p><p>Mustang sat in silence for a moment before responding. "Thank you, Ed," he said, voice suddenly a bit thicker than it had been moments ago.</p><p>They sat in silence for a while, this one nothing like the previous one. There was a peace about it, like afternoons in Resembool and walks with Alphonse. Ed just sat and listened to Mustang's breathing and the hiss of oxygen, and Mustang seemed to be lost in thought</p><p>Mustang cleared his throat. "I guess . . . I mean, well," Mustang began, the words coming out in a rush, like he'd had to talk himself into saying them. "There was something else I needed to tell you. I thought you should know . . ."</p><p>Ed waited impatiently for Mustang to continue, taking in one dry breath after another.</p><p>"I . . . well, to keep Archer and anyone from getting at you . . . it was for your own protection . . ."</p><p>Broken hand or no broken hand, Ed would get up from the bed and throttle the old man if he didn't spit it out.</p><p>"I . . . well, I adopted you."</p><p>Ed did a mental double take.</p><p>He must have been hearing things, because that made no sense. "Wha-?"</p><p>"I adopted you," Mustang repeated like he was trying not to choke. Ed could relate. "It doesn't have to be permanent," he added quickly. The only thing that seemed to keep Mustang from nervous laughter and explosive disclaimers was a lifetime of military training. "I mean, if you don't want it, we can undo the whole thing later, after things settle down."</p><p>Looking back on the situation, Ed probably would have said it was the drugs or the pain or just the exhaustion. There were a number of things that could explain his reaction, all of them plausible and sensible.</p><p>Ed cried.</p><p>Tears burned his dead eyes, sliding down his face and burning through a myriad of cuts and abrasions before dripping off his jaw and onto the sheets beneath him.</p><p>"Ed, what's wrong?" Mustang said, the choking uncertainty suddenly gone. "Ed, is something hurting?"</p><p>Ed shook his head, the tiny movement hurting his neck enough to make him stop. "No."</p><p>Yes, Ed knew which Mustang was the real one.</p><p>"What's wrong?" Mustang demanded again.</p><p>Ed's real father might have walked out on him years ago, but over the past few weeks Mustang had proven above and beyond that in a way, he had always been there, filling that missing part of his life more effectively than Hohenheim ever could.</p><p>And this time, that crippling doubt that had followed him since the basement eased, like mist banished in the sunlight.</p><p>"Nothing," Ed whispered. "Nothing."</p><p>It wasn't much later that Ed was told there was a call waiting for him at the nurse's station.</p><p>When the nurse finally got him into a wheelchair with Hawkeye's help, Ed was ready to claw out the IV and the mask and hop there himself. In the wheelchair next to him, Mustang—it was too surreal to call him <em>Dad</em>—told him to calm down and be patient, but Ed couldn't help it.</p><p>It could only be one person.</p><p>The trip to the phone took an eternity, but soon something cold and smooth was pushed up to his ear and something settled in his lap, the mouthpiece pressed to his chin.</p><p>And Ed had no idea what to say.</p><p>"Al?" he whispered.</p><p>
  <em>"Brother!"</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Epilogue:</em>
</p><p>Roy didn't have much of a green thumb, but he did enjoy making his front flowerbeds look presentable after a long winter.</p><p>It was the perfect sort of Saturday, the kind that showed winter never really lasted forever. Even that stubborn pile of snow that sat under Roy's front porch all winter finally melted to make room for spring.</p><p>Roy couldn't have been more grateful for winter's end.</p><p>He grabbed what must have been the fiftieth chrysanthemum by its delicate stem and plucked the orange bloom from its tray, considering the small bed before him to find the perfect placement. The spot he was eying was a bit too close to another orange plant.</p><p>"A little to the left," Ed suggested.</p><p>Well, that did place it closer to a patch of white asters . . .</p><p>
  <em>Wait . . .</em>
</p><p>Roy looked up to see the boy still in the chair on the porch, blanket draped over his lap to ward off the slight chill in the breeze, face tilted up to catch more sun and eyes peacefully closed. A small smile was struggling not to take over his face.</p><p>"When I want to ask for advice on the most visually appealing arrangement for this particular set of flowers, I'm not going to ask the brat that wouldn't know color harmony if it slapped him in the face."</p><p>"That's hurtful, Mustang," Ed drawled. "You could make fun of my handicap or something, but you go right for what really stings. I used to coordinate perfectly."</p><p>"Like a drunk clown," Roy agreed, digging a small hole for the petite flower a little to the left. "That silly red coat didn't go with anything."</p><p>"I wore it with black," Ed sniffed, pale fingers smoothing the blanket in front of him. "Black goes with everything."</p><p>"Pairing anything with black is a cheap fashion trick. It takes skill to actually coordinate color."</p><p>"Coming from the man that wears a solid blue uniform every day of his life. With <em>black</em> boots."</p><p>"There is only so much one can do within the limits of military regulations."</p><p>"So really, you were just jealous that I got to wear whatever I wanted."</p><p>"If Hawkeye would have allowed it, I would have burned that red disaster to ashes."</p><p>Things had been better. Ed had come a long way since the incident with Envy. It was as if the conflict itself had given Ed back that fighting spirit that had been wrenched from him in the basement. His physical therapy was progressing well, and despite being without his automail arm and leg and being immobilized for several weeks with his other injuries, his spirit was lighter than it had been since his return from Drachma. The panic attacks were still something they had to deal with, but the accompanying flashbacks had lessened considerably, and the emptiness in his eyes finally reobtained that spark of life and humor that had been missing for months.</p><p>It was still a struggle to get him to eat and shower, and Roy wondered if the nightmares would ever abate for the boy, but Ed was <em>better</em>. He would take better over the hell Ed had been through any day.</p><p>And it wasn't just Ed changing. Since Archer was found dead, there had been movement in the upper ranks. It was subtle, and it was quick, but Roy's team didn't miss anything. As it turned out, the very night the team was admitted into the hospital, the Fuhrer had left on sudden family business much too convenient for Roy's liking. He returned two days later and things started to change. Higher-ups were transferred, the most notable of which being Brigadier General Olivier Armstrong. Her sudden promotion to Major General and transfer to the North wasn't odd in and of itself, except that the previous General in charge of Briggs had suddenly retired, though where to, Roy could find no trace. He suspected the man was dead. All of the men under his command that were higher than Lieutenant were either transferred, or also "retired."</p><p>Roy and his team had been completely cleared with absolutely no explanation aside from the entire incident being "classified." Evidence surrounding Ed's disappearance and the occurrence in the slums had vanished without a trace, right down to the basement Ed had been found in. The whole thing had been set on fire, with local officials calling it accidental. It was inherently frustrating, but Roy had learned something very important over the past few months.</p><p>He could chase red herrings all day long, but he would never get anywhere he wanted to be if he didn't prioritize the people in front of him. He had allowed Ed's case to distract him from Ed and the people that mattered most to him, and he wasn't going to make that same mistake twice.</p><p>So while he longed for justice, Roy decided that for now, he would be content with peace.</p><p>"The only thing disastrous here is why you haven't asked Hawkeye out yet."</p><p>Roy choked.</p><p>As peaceful as things ever got with Edward Elric involved, anyway.</p><p>Ed smiled.</p><p>"I—you—Fullmetal, I will set you on <em>fire</em> if you—"</p><p>"Now now, Mustang, that's no way to talk to your son," Ed chastised, that irritating smirk still on his face.</p><p>The casual way he said it was always enough to give Roy pause.</p><p>The adoption had certainly added a new element to the household dynamic. It had been incredibly strange at first, and Roy knew the boy had struggled with it just as much, if not more, than Roy had. Ed had even asked him in one of his more vulnerable moments if this changed things, but Roy was quick to assure him that no, nothing would change except the fact that Ed was no longer a ward of the state. He had a home now, he had someone to look out for him, and all that changed was his mailing address.</p><p>Ed had then replied that this was ideal, because Ed was by no means going to refer to Roy as "Dad."</p><p>"Cat got your tongue, Mustang?"</p><p>Roy glanced up in time to see the humor leave Ed's eyes and his brows draw together in a small frown. Roy had learned that this meant the boy was listening carefully to something much too quiet for Roy to pick up himself.</p><p>"Ed?" Roy asked, dusting garden soil from his hands. "What is it?"</p><p>The frown melded into awe and he stood up, the spare prosthetic Winry had fitted him with wobbling under his unimpressive weight. With memory as a guide, he reached out and snagged his crutch from its resting place against the porch railing and started an awkward hobble down the front steps.</p><p>"Ed, hang on!" Roy called, hurrying over and grabbing him by his elbow.</p><p>Ed flinched, but stopped. "Mustang, do you hear that?"</p><p>Roy stopped and listened for a moment, but all he heard was the faint rumble of a car and his neighbor Mrs. Cook, the sound of her water hose and her off-key whistling carrying over her backyard fence.</p><p>"Fullmetal, I don't hear anyth—"</p><p>He stopped.</p><p>He heard it, too.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>It started faint, but unmistakable, slowly building in volume until Ed wondered how Mustang could have kept <em>from</em> hearing it.</p><p>The metallic <em>crash, clang </em>was a sound he had become very familiar with over the past few years.</p><p>It sounded like a walking trashcan.</p><p>Ed still felt Mustang's grip on his arm, warm and steady. He took a step forward, his prosthetic leg shaking twice as much as his flesh leg. It wasn't automail, and without his sight to help calibrate, Ed imagined it was much like playing jump rope in the dark while inebriated. He felt the pressure against his stump as the metal met concrete, then maneuvered his flesh leg after it. He'd been cast-free for almost three weeks now, but his foot and hand were still plenty sore from their past trauma. A wrong step could mean a world of hurt and possibly another visit to the hospital, and Ed was interested in neither.</p><p>Mustang followed him, his steady pull guiding him down the sidewalk. Then after a few steps, Mustang halted, and Ed trusted him, so he stopped too.</p><p>The sound was close now, close enough that every rattle sent his heart quivering in his tight chest. He didn't know when his whole body started shaking, but he was afraid his leg might go out from under him at any moment.</p><p>It was feet away, and then inches.</p><p>And then it stopped right in front of Ed.</p><p>Ed's numb fingers loosened, his crutch clattering to the ground. Mustang let go of his arm just in time for him to get swept up in a metallic embrace.</p><p>He curled around the familiar chest plate, face buried in familiar steel that smelled like oil and rust and home.</p><p>"Alphonse," he whispered. "You're back."</p><p>The suit of armor made a hollow, thick sort of laugh. "I'm back, Brother."</p><p>Ed sobbed. "You're back. It's been months . . . you're back."</p><p>"I'm sorry it took so long," Alphonse murmured, gauntlets holding Ed tight.</p><p>"It doesn't matter. You're here now."</p><p>"It's good to be home."</p><p>Yes. Now it was home.</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>Ed couldn't stall it any longer.</p><p>He sat in the chair at the kitchen table, his flesh hand resting on the scared wood and nervously running over its familiar cracks and divots.</p><p>He could hear Mustang on one side and Alphonse on the other, both of them talking like Ed was blind <em>and</em> deaf.</p><p>"Are you sure this is the best place for this?"</p><p>"Of course. Fullmetal's always been more comfortable here than anywhere else."</p><p>"Yeah, but if something goes wrong—"</p><p>"I've already called Silas. He's headed here as we speak. If something goes wrong, I'd rather it be here than in a hospital."</p><p>Ed felt like a live wire, ready to snap at a moment's notice. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He was on the verge of a panic attack and trying hard to fight it off. He breathed deeply, hand moving from the table to his blanket, drawing it tighter around him.</p><p>It wasn't entirely rational, but Ed knew that this was going to hurt. Alchemy had hurt him a lot the last few times he had tried it and though logically he knew that this wasn't going to be anywhere near the most painful experience of his life, his body responded with a visceral urge to fight or run, and the inability to do either fed back into the fear.</p><p>Alphonse had what he thought was a cure for Ed's damaged eyes. When he'd called Ed in the hospital, he said that he might have a lead, even though he hadn't been in Xing for more than a couple of hours. He told Ed that he'd saved some girl from slavers in the desert and she'd promised to help in an effort to repay him. When he'd called back almost three months later, he said he'd learned all he needed and was heading back.</p><p>And now here he was, weeks later with no Philosopher's Stone, no healing elixir, but with a piece of parchment paper and a base knowledge of what he called alkehestry.</p><p>Ed had heard of alkehestry, but he didn't know much about it. There was very little research available on the subject in all the libraries he'd been to, but Alphonse had explained it as being very different from alchemy. Alchemy relied on energy from tectonic movements and was, at its core, a science. That's what Ed had loved about it to begin with. It was exact and measured and mostly predictable.</p><p>Alkehestry, on the other hand, seemed to be almost an art. It relied on what Alphonse had called the "Dragon's Pulse," or "chi." All Aphonse had told him was that it had something to do with the life force of the earth itself, which translated well to healing.</p><p>It sounded like a long shot to Ed, but Al wanted him to try it. He'd do anything for his little brother, even if it hurt.</p><p>"Brother?"</p><p>Alphonse's voice yanked Ed from his thoughts. "Yeah?"</p><p>"Are you ready?"</p><p>
  <em>No. No, not at all, no.</em>
</p><p>"As I'll ever be," he said aloud, hoping his voice didn't sound as weak as he thought it did.</p><p>If this worked, he would be able to see again.</p><p>He would see Al, those glowing soulfire eyes that were so expressive, despite being trapped in a suit of armor. He would see Mustang, that stupid smirk on his face that always annoyed him so much. He'd see the sun, the blueness of the sky and Winry's eyes, the slow turn from winter to spring.</p><p>He'd see Mustang's house and where he was and who was there and he wouldn't have to be afraid of the blackness anymore.</p><p>He'd be free.</p><p>"Let's do this," he said, gingerly getting to his feet, crutch in hand. He felt Mustang's warm hand wrap under his elbow and helped guide him past the living room and up the stairs. The stairs were a challenge with the temporary prosthetic leg, and the way both legs were shaking, Ed was grateful for the help. Al clattered along behind them, and Ed could feel the apprehension the radiated from the armor in waves.</p><p>The crutch hit the bed in the spare room and Mustang helped Ed sit down. He'd had his automail repair in this room, as well as his debriefing. Ed hoped this experience would end up being a lot more pleasant than the last two.</p><p>Mustang settled beside him, the mattress dipping and creaking to his left. His hand never left Ed's arm. Metallic armor crouched in front of him and Al's leather gauntlet encircled his only hand.</p><p>They sat there, long enough to let the magnitude of the situation really sink in.</p><p>Ed might see again. Or he might not.</p><p>But there was only one way to know for sure. Alphonse held Ed's last chance in the palm of his hand, and now the anticipation was starting to magnify the fear.</p><p>His heart pounded hard, his chest throbbing.</p><p>Al's free hand placed something small and pliable in his lap. The alchehestry circle, painted on a piece of fabric and waiting for Alphonse to activate it. It felt unnaturally heavy, like Al had placed a bar of lead there instead.</p><p>"Are you ready?" Al asked quietly, the second and last time. Mustang squeezed his arm reassuringly.</p><p>Ed took a slow breath. In and out, just like Teacher had taught him.</p><p>He took another.</p><p>"Ready."</p><p>Alphonse only hesitated a moment. Then he activated the circle.</p><p>Heat blossomed from the heavy fabric, warm and pleasant like the sun on his skin. He gasped at the sensation, surprised only for a moment before another sensation distracted him.</p><p>The heat seemed to swell and roll over him, like a flower blossoming, spinning out from the alchehestric circle in waves. It started deep inside of him, travelling outward to his limbs. The aching in his joints soothed and eased until it almost disappeared completely. Muscles that had long atrophied felt like they had been given new life and strength, and the myriad of scars and healing wounds on his skin tingled and itched as they knit back together.</p><p>Then it reached his eyes.</p><p>They prickled, tears forming and spilling over involuntarily as the alchehestry did its work. It was like silk running over his open eyes, soft and smooth. The blackness that had swallowed his vision for the past months turned to a milky gray, and Ed slammed his eyes shut in surprise, but the gray lingered and brightened.</p><p>Gray shifted to white, and the transmutation fizzled and died.</p><p>Ed kept his eyes tightly shut.</p><p>He heard breathing, Mustang's slow, steady inhalations and his own ragged gasping. He heard the creak of Al's armor.</p><p>A thousand thoughts flew through his mind while a thousand emotions swelled inside of him.</p><p>This was it. Everything hinged on this moment.</p><p>Ed let out a terse, halting breath.</p><p>And when he opened his eyes, he <em>saw</em>.</p><p>He blinked and he <em>saw</em>. Shapes were blurred and running together like ice cream left in the sun. Their edges melted against one another, but the <em>colors!</em> The colors were overwhelming, vivid in a way even his nightmares couldn't compare with. Ed didn't know what all of them were, but he didn't care, he could <em>see</em> them.</p><p>Ed could see.</p><p>"Brother?" the gray blur in front of him asked, two smudges of brilliant, burning red staring back at him. Ed was so absorbed by the image that he almost didn't notice how hesitant and how hopeful Alphonse sounded.</p><p>He didn't know when he started grinning like an idiot, but the grin was there all the same, making his face ache at the simple expression, but he didn't care! "Al!" Ed launched himself forward, wrapping his only arm around his little brother's neck. "Al, I see! I see!"</p><p>"You can see?!" Al asked, sounding both thrilled and breathless.</p><p>Al pushed him back, studying his face before pulling him back into another bone-crushing hug. "You can see!"</p><p>Ed's eyes swam, tears sliding down his face, but he didn't know if it was from the trauma of the healing or sheer joy, and he didn't care. "Al, I can see!"</p><p>His brother had done this for him. It was his brother that never gave up, never quit. Alphonse had traveled the world on the bare hope that something somewhere would save Ed. Al had given him his life back. He'd given Ed everything.</p><p>Mustang!</p><p>Ed released Al, turning so suddenly that he almost fell over. There was a shape in front of him, and all he could make out were dark pants, a purple shirt and a pale face with a mop of black hair on top. He wrapped his arm around the man and felt Mustang's familiar arms encircle him. "Mustang, I can see!"</p><p>He might have been hearing things, but he could have sworn he heard a thickness in Mustang's voice he hadn't heard before. "You can see," he choked back, the response gentle and awed. "You can see."</p><p>Ed buried his face in Mustang—no, his <em>father's</em>— neck.</p><p>Ed had made to this point because of Mustang. There was nothing he didn't owe this man, and there was nothing he could do to ever make this exchange equivalent.</p><p>Alphonse saved him, but Mustang had made sure that when he got back, there would be something worth saving. And Ed would always be thankful for that.</p><p>"Thank you," he whispered, the word turning into a sob. "Thank you for everything."</p><p>Mustang snorted a quiet half laugh, half sob. "Anytime, brat."</p><p>XxXxX</p><p>"No way."</p><p>"That's how it works, Ed," Mustang sighed, probably watching with some distaste as the walls of what was once his guest bedroom were turned into the Elric brothers' personal cork board.</p><p>Ed stood with the help of a single crutch, trying to pin a map of Amestris up with one hand while keeping his balance with the other. It was harder than it looked, despite trading in the stiff prosthetic for a new automail leg. He wobbled, overcorrected, then nearly tumbled before Alphonse reached out and righted him.</p><p>With a gentleness that only Alphonse could manage, the suit of armor sat Ed down on the bed beside Mustang, plucked the map from Ed's hand and proceeded to pin it properly.</p><p>Ed sighed, reaching up with his new automail hand to massage his eyes. Silas still had him on the steroid drops, but with several more treatments from Alphonse's alchehestry over the past couple of weeks, his vision was almost back at twenty-twenty, though he still suffered from plenty of eye strain, mostly after too much reading or too much light exposer, or just when he was tired.</p><p>Mustang obligingly got up and flicked on the soft lamp in the corner, switching off the overhead lights on his way back.</p><p>Ed smirked, eyes still hidden under his hand. "Thanks."</p><p>"Don't mention it."</p><p>"But still, <em>no."</em></p><p>He could hear Mustang bite back an impatient sigh. "Fortunately for me, you don't get a say. You can reclaim your State Alchemist certification after you've made a full recovery. And that's an order."</p><p>"He's right," Al piped up, adding several post cards to the wall above his bed. Ed opened his mouth to protest, but Al cut him off. "Besides, I'll be able to check out all the books from the library that we need. We can keep researching until you're able to recertify, right Colonel? I mean, Dad? Or,—Roy?" he verbally stumbled while Mustang watched on with that dumb grin of his.</p><p>It was still really weird for the both of them, now that Mustang had adopted them. Though Alphonse had never been technically considered a ward of the state, Mustang had asked Falman to draw up some paperwork and manipulate some files, so that now, Roy was his legal parent, too. They were still trying to figure out the nuances, but Al was struggling the most. Probably because Ed had drawn the line at addressing Mustang by any sort of paternal moniker, and Alphonse was still trying to find his own preferences.</p><p>But Al was excited about it, too. And if Ed was being honest, he didn't hate it.</p><p>He supposed Mustang had been sort of a father figure to the both of them ever since that first time they'd both set foot in his office. Sure, things were different, but at the same time, nothing had changed. Mustang was there for him the way he'd always been.</p><p>"Any of those is fine," Mustang informed Al, drawing Ed's attention back to the present.</p><p>If Al wasn't still stuck in a suit of armor, Ed knew he would have been blushing furiously.</p><p>Ed sighed in defeat. He didn't have the energy to argue the point further. Besides, as long as he could get a hold of new alchemy books every couple of days, he didn't have much to complain about, certified State Alchemist or not.</p><p>"Cold?" Mustang asked.</p><p>Ed looked up, almost startled that he could <em>see</em> Mustang's face. After so long in the dark, sometimes sight surprised him. Mustang's face was paler than he had remembered, dark eyes rimmed by less dark circles. He looked tired, but content. A lot like how Ed felt, actually.</p><p>Mustang didn't wait any longer for a response. He reached behind him farther up on the bed and pulled a blanket from where it had been thrown earlier, draping it over Ed's lap.</p><p>It was his blanket, the one he had been dragging around for weeks. Ed hadn't initially recognized it on sight, but he remembered how it had felt under his hand and how it smelled and how it had always made him feel just a little bit safer.</p><p>His hands smoothed the blanket over his lap thoughtfully, taking in the rich red of it, almost the exact shade his coat had been. Ed wondered if Mustang had been responsible for that.</p><p>With a confidence he hadn't felt in ages, he clapped his hands together and placed them over the fabric. The transmutation buzzed in his mind and through his body as familiar as an old friend. The blanket came alive with alchemy, threads twisting and changing direction until it took the shape of a coat, a black flamel emblazoned across the back.</p><p>Mustang and Alphonse watched on as he carefully put his arms through the sleeves, only wincing a couple of times at the awkward movement. The familiar weight settled across his shoulders, heavier than his old coat had been, but it felt just like the blanket he'd wrapped himself in the past few months. It even had the same comforting scent.</p><p>"Better?" Mustang asked.</p><p>Ed had been to hell and back in less than a year. He'd come a long way, and with further still to go.</p><p>But despite all that, between Alphonse and Mustang and Winry and his friends, he had managed to find a sort of paradise at the end of it all.</p><p>He couldn't have hoped for a better outcome.</p><p>Ed smiled. "Perfect."</p><p>
  <em>Fin</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had this terrible dream the other night that my ff.net account got deleted and I lost everything that I didn't have saved on my current computer, so forgive me as I import everything over here xD</p></blockquote></div></div>
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